00 


UNIVERSITY  of  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 
LIBRARY 


(Jautin  Gentzel.  Winnipeg,  Can. 


...     and  Danny  ups  and  says,   'Choculuts  and 
en  and  taffy  and  curren  buns  and  gingerbread.'  '> 


Sowing  Seeds  in  Danny 


By 

NELLIE  L.  McCLUNG 


With  Photographic  Frontispiece 


New  York 

Doubleday,  Page  &  Company 
1909 


106233 


COPYRIGHT,  1908,  BY 
THE  WOMAN'S  HOME  COMPANION 

COPYIIGHT,   1908,  BY 
DOUBLEDAY,     PAGE    &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHED,  MARCH,  1908 


ALL   RIGHTS  RESERVED 

INCLUDING  THAT  OF  TRANSLATION  OTTO  FOREIGN  LANGUAGES 
INCLUDING  THE  SCANDINAVIAN 


T5 


THIS    STORY 
• 
IS   LOVINGLY   DEDICATED   TO 

MY   DEAR    MOTHER 


USO  MANY  FAITHS — SO  MANY  CREEDS, — 

SO  MANY  PATHS  THAT  WIND  AND  WIND 

WHILE  JUST  THE  ART  OF  BEING  KIND, 

IS  WHAT  THE  OLD  WORLD  NEEDS !" 


PEOPLE  OF  THE  STORY 

MRS.    BURTON    FRANCIS  —  a   dreamy   woman,    who 

has  beautiful  theories. 
MR.  FRANCIS  —  her  silent  husband. 
CAMILLA  ROSE  —  a  capable  young  woman  who  looks 
after  Mrs.  Francis's  domestic  affairs,  and  occasion- 
ally helps  her  to  apply  her  theories. 
THE  WATSON  FAMILY,  consisting  of  — 

JOHN    WATSON  —  a    man    of    few    words    who 

works  on  the  "Section." 

MRS.  WATSON  —  who  washes  for  Mrs.  Francis. 
PEARL  WATSON  —  an  imaginative,  clever  little 
girl,  twelve  years  old,  who  is  the  mainstay 
of  the  family. 

MARY  WATSON  —  a  younger  sister. 
TEDDY  WATSON. 
BILLY  WATSON. 
JIMMY  WATSON. 
PATSEY  WATSON. 
TOMMY  WATSON. 

ROBERT  ROBLIN  WATSON,  known  as  "Bugsey." 

DANIEL   MULCAHEY  WATSON — "Wee   Danny." 

"Teddy    will    be    fourteen    on    St.    Patrick's 

Day  and  Danny  will  be  four  come  March." 


x         SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

MRS.  McGuiRE  —  an  elderly  Irishwoman  of  uncer- 
tain temper  who  lives  on  the  next  lot. 

DR.  EARNER  —  the  old  doctor  of  the  village,  clever 
man  in  his  profession,  but  of  intemperate  habits. 

MARY  EARNER  —  his  beautiful  daughter. 

DR.  HORACE  CLAY  —  a  young  doctor,  who  has 
recently  come  to  the  village. 

REV.    HUGH    GRANTLEY  —  the    young    minister. 

SAMUEL  MOTHERWELL  —  a  well  off  but  very  stingy 
farmer. 

MRS.  MOTHERWELL  —  his  wife. 

TOM  MOTHERWELL  —  their  son. 

ARTHUR  WEMYSS  —  a  young  Englishman  who  is 
'trying  to  learn  to  farm. 

JIM  RUSSELL  —  an  ambitious  young  farmer  who 
lives  near  the  Motherwells. 

JAMES  DUCKER  —  a  retired  farmer,  who  has  politi- 
cal aspirations. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  Sowing  Seeds  in  Danny    .                    .  3 

II.  The  Old  Doctor       .          .          .         .  .     36 

III.  The  Pink  Lady        ....  38 

IV.  The  Band  of  Hope  ....  43 
V.  The  Relic  of  the  Late  McGuire.          .  54 

VI.  The  Musical  Sense   .          .          .          .          61 

VII.  "  One  of  Manitoba's  Prosperous  Farmers"  69 

VIII.  The  Other  Doctor    ....          80 

IX.  The  Live  Wire  ...          87 

X.  The  Butcher  Ride    .          .          .          .112 

XL  How  Pearl  Watson  Wiped  Out  the  Stain    1 1 7 

XII.  From  Camilla's  Diary        .          .          .138 

XIII.  The  Fifth  Son  .          .          .    .      .        1*43 

XIV.  The  Faith  that  Moveth  Mountains     .        151 
XV.  "Inasmuch"  .....       167 

XVI.  How  Polly  Went  Home    .          .          .176 

XVII.  "  Egbert  and  Edythe "      .          .         .182 

XVIII.  The  Party  at  Slater's        .          .         .194 

XIX.  Pearl's  Diary 219 

XX.  Tom's  New  Viewpoint      .         .         .       223 


xii        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 


PAGE 


XXI.  The  Crack  in  the  Granite.          .          .       230 
XXII.  Shadows 242 

XXIII.  Saved 250 

XXIV.  The  Harvest  .         .         .         .         .       279 
XXV.  Cupid's  Emissary    .         .         .  283 

XXVI.  The  Thanksgiving    .          .          .          .293 
Conclusion:  Convincing  Camilla     .          .          .309 


SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 


Sowing  Seeds  in  Danny 

CHAPTER  I 

IN  HER  comfortable  sitting  room  Mrs.  J. 
Burton  Francis  sat,  at  peace  with  her- 
self and  all  mankind.  The  glory  of  the  short 
winter  afternoon  streamed  into  the  room  and 
touched  with  new  warmth  and  tenderness  the 
face  of  a  Madonna  on  the  wall. 

The  whole  room  suggested  peace.  The 
quiet  elegance  of  its  furnishings,  the  soft 
leather-bound  books  on  the  table,  the  dreamy 
face  of  the  occupant,  who  sat  with  folded 
hands  looking  out  of  the  window,  were  all 
in  strange  contrast  to  the  dreariness  of  the 
scene  below,  where  the  one  long  street  of  the 
little  Manitoba  town,  piled  high  with  snow, 
stretched  away  into  the  level,  white,  never- 
ending  prairie.  A  farmer  tried  to  force 
his  tired  horses  through  the  drifts;  a  little 
boy  with  a  milk-pail  plodded  bravely  from 
door  to  door,  sometimes  laying  down  his 

3 


4          SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

burden  to  blow  his  breath  on  his  stinging 
fingers. 

The  only  sound  that  disturbed  the  quiet  of 
the  afternoon  in  Mrs.  Francis's  sitting  room 
was  the  regular  rub-rub  of  the  wash-board  in 
the  kitchen  below. 

"Mrs.  Watson  is  slow  with  the  washing 
to-day, "Mrs.  Francis  murmured  with  a  look 
of  concern  on  her  usually  placid  face.  "  Pos- 
sibly she  is  not  well.  I  will  call  her  and  see." 

"Mrs.  Watson,  will  you  come  upstairs, 
please?"  she  called  from  the  stairway. 

Mrs.  Watson,  slow  and  shambling,  came  up 
the  stairs,  and  stood  in  the  doorway  wiping 
her  face  on  her  apron. 

"  Is  it  me  ye  want  ma'am?"  she  asked  when 
she  had  recovered  her  breath. 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Watson,"  Mrs.  Francis  said 
sweetly.  "I  thought  perhaps  you  were  not 
feeling  well  to-day.  I  have  not  heard  you 
singing  at  your  work,  and  the  washing  seems 
to  have  gone  slowly.  You  must  be  very  care- 
ful of  your  health,  and  not  overdo  your 
strength." 

While  she  was  speaking,  Mrs.  Watson's 
eyes  were  busy  with  the  room,  the  pictures  on 


SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY          5 

the  wall,  the  cosey  window-seat  with  its 
numerous  cushions;  the  warmth  and  bright- 
ness of  it  all  brought  a  glow  to  her  tired  face. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  she  said,  "thank  ye  kindly, 
ma'am.  It  is  very  kind  of  ye  to  be  thinkin* 
o'  the  likes  of  me." 

"  Oh,  we  should  always  think  of  others,  you 
know,"  Mrs.  Francis  replied  quickly  with  her 
most  winning  smile,  as  she  seated  herself  in 
a  rocking-chair.  "Are  the  children  all  well? 
Dear  little  Danny,  how  is  he?" 

"  Indade,  ma'am,  that  same  Danny  is  the 
upsettinest  one  of  the  nine,  and  him  only  four 
come  March.  It  was  only  this  morn's  mornin' 
that  he  sez  to  me,  sez  he,  as  I  was  comin'  away, 
'  Ma,  d'  ye  think  she  '11  give  ye  pie  for  your 
dinner?  Thry  and  remimber  the  taste  of  it, 
won't  ye  ma,  and  tell  us  when  ye  come  home, ' 
sez  he." 

"Oh,  the  sweet  prattle  of  childhood,"  said 
Mrs.  Francis,  clasping  her  shapely  white 
hands.  "How  very  interesting  it  must  be  to 
watch  their  young  minds  unfolding  as  the 
flower!  Is  it  nine  little  ones  you  have,  Mrs. 
Watson?" 

"Yes,    nine   it    is,  ma'am.     God   save   us. 


6          SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

Teddy  will  be  fourteen  on  St.  Patrick's  Day, 
and  all  the  rest  are  younger." 

"  It  is  a  great  responsibility  to  be  a  mother, 
and  yet  how  few  there  be  that  think  of  it," 
added  Mrs.  Francis,  dreamily. 

"Thrue  for  ye  ma'am,"  Mrs.  Watson  broke 
in.  "  There  's  my  own  man,  John  Watson. 
That  man  knows  no  more  of  what  it  manes 
than  you  do  yerself  that  has  n't  one  at  all  at 
all,  the  Lord  be  praised;  and  him  the  father 
of  nine." 

"  I  have  just  been  reading  a  great  book  by 
Dr.  Ernestus  Parker,  on  'Motherhood.'  It 
would  be  a  great  benefit  to  both  you  and  your 
husband." 

"Och,  ma'am,"  Mrs.  Watson  broke  in, 
hastily,  "John  is  no  hand  for  books  and  has 
always  had  his  suspicions  o'  them  since  his 
own  mother's  great-uncle  William  Mulcahey 
got  himself  transported  durin'  life  or  good 
behaviour  for  havin'  one  found  on  him  no 
bigger  'n  an  almanac,  at  the  time  of  the  riots 
in  Ireland.  No,  ma'am,  John  would  n't  rade 
it  at  all  at  all,  and  he  don't  know  one  letther 
from  another,  what 's  more." 

"Then  if  you  would  read  it  and  explain  it 


SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY          7 

to  him,  it  would  be  so  helpful  to  you  both,  and 
so  inspiring.  It  deals  so  ably  with  the  prob- 
lems of  child-training.  You  must  be  puzzled 
many  times  in  the  training  of  so  many  little 
minds,  and  Dr.  Parker  really  does  throw 
wonderful  light  on  all  the  problems  that  con- 
front mothers.  And  I  am  sure  the  mother 
of  nine  must  have  a  great  many  perplexities." 

Yes,  Mrs.  Watson  had  a  great  many  per- 
plexities —  how  to  make  trousers  for  four 
boys  out  of  the  one  old  pair  the  minister's 
wife  had  given  her ;  how  to  make  the  memory 
of  the  rice-pudding  they  had  on  Sunday  last 
all  the  week;  how  to  work  all  day  and  sew  at 
night,  and  still  be  brave  and  patient;  howHo 
make  little  Danny  and  Bugsey  forget  they 
were  cold  and  hungry.  Yes,  Mrs.  Watson 
had  her  problems ;  but  they  were  not  the  kind 
that  Dr.  Ernestus  Parker  had  dealt  with  in 
his  book  on  "Motherhood." 

"But  I  must  not  keep  you,  Mrs.  Watson," 
Mrs.  Francis  said,  as  she  remembered  the 
washing.  "When  you  go  downstairs  will 
you  kindly  bring  me  up  a  small  red  note- 
book that  you  will  find  on  the  desk  in  the 
library?" 


8          SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

"Yes  ma'am,"  said  Mrs.  Watson,  and  went 
heavily  down  the  stairs.  She  found  the  book 
and  brought  it  up. 

While  she  was  making  the  second  laborious 
journey  down  the  softly  padded  stairs,  Mrs. 
Francis  was  making  an  entry  in  the  little  red 
book. 

Dec.  7,  1903.  Talked  with  one  woman  to-day  re 
Beauty  of  Motherhood.  Recommended  Dr.  Parker's 
book.  Believe  good  done. 

Then  she  closed  the  book  with  a  satisfied 
feeling.  She  was  going  to  have  a  very  full 
report  for  her  department  at  the  next  Annual 
Convention  of  the  Society  for  Propagation  of 
Lofty  Ideals. 

In  another  part  of  the  same  Manitoba  town 
lived  John  Watson,  unregenerate  hater  of 
books,  his  wife  and  their  family  of  nine. 
Their  first  dwelling  when  they  had  come  to 
Manitoba  from  the  Ottawa  Valley,  thirteen 
years  ago,  had  been  C.  P.  R.  box-car  No.  722, 
but  this  had  soon  to  be  enlarged,  which  was 
done  by  adding  to  it  other  car-roofed  shanties. 
One  of  these  was  painted  a  bright  yellow  and 
was  a  little  larger  than  the  others.  It  had 


SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY          9 

been  the  caboose  of  a  threshing  outfit  that 
John  had  worked  for  in  '96.  John  was  the 
fireman  and  when  the  boiler  blew  up  and  John 
was  carried  home  insensible  the  "boys"  felt 
that  they  should  do  something  for  the  widow 
and  orphans.  They  raised  one  hundred  and 
sixty  dollars  forthwith,  every  man  contribut- 
ing his  wages  for  the  last  four  days.  The 
owner  of  the  outfit,  Sam  Motherwell,  in  a 
strange  fit  of  generosity,  donated  the  caboose. 

The  next  fall  Sam  found  that  he  needed  the 
caboose  himself,  and  came  with  his  trucks 
to  take  it  back.  He  claimed  that  he  had 
given  it  with  the  understanding  that  John 
was  going  to  die.  John  had  not  fulfilled  his 
share  of  the  contract,  and  Sam  felt  that  his 
generosity  had  been  misplaced. 

John  was  cutting  wood  beside  his  dwelling 
when  Sam  arrived  with  his  trucks,  and  accused 
him  of  obtaining  goods  under  false  pretences. 
John  was  a  man  of  few  words  and  listened 
attentively  to  Sam's  reasoning.  From  the 
little  window  of  the  caboose  came  the  discor- 
dant wail  of  a  very  young  infant,  and  old  Sam 
felt  his  claims  growing  more  and  more 
shadowy. 


io        SOWING  SEEDvS  IN  DANNY 

John  took  the  pipe  from  his  mouth  and  spat 
once  at  the  woodpile.  Then,  jerking  his 
thumb  toward  the  little  window,  he  said 
briefly: 

"  Twins.      Last  night. " 

Sam  Motherwell  mounted  his  trucks  and 
drove  away.  He  knew  when  he  was  beaten. 

The  house  had  received  additions  on  every 
side,  until  it  seemed  to  threaten  to  run  over 
the  edge  of  the  lot,  and  looked  like  a  section 
of  a  wrecked  freight  train,  with  its  yellow 
refrigerator  car. 

The  snow  had  drifted  up  to  the  windows, 
and  entirely  over  the  little  lean-to  that  had 
been  erected  at  the  time  that  little  Danny  had 
added  his  feeble  wail  to  the  general  family 
chorus. 

But  the  smoke  curled  bravely  up  from  the 
chimney  into  the  frosty  air,  and  a  snug  pile 
of  wood  by  the  "cheek  of  the  dure"  gave 
evidence  of  John's  industry,  nothwithstanding 
his  dislike  of  the  world's  best  literature. 

Inside  the  floor  was  swept  and  the  stove  was 
clean,  and  an  air  of  comfort  was  over  all,  in 
spite  of  the  evidence  of  poverty.  A  great 
variety  of  calendars  hung  on  the  wall.  Every, 


SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY        n 

store  in  town  it  seems  had  sent  one  this  year, 
last  year  and  the  year  before.  A  large  poster 
of  the  Winnipeg  Industrial  Exhibition  hung  in 
the  parlour,  and  a  Massey-Harris  self-binder,  in 
full  swing,  propelled  by  three  maroon  horses, 
swept  through  a  waving  field  of  golden  grain, 
driven  by  an  adipose  individual  in  blue  shirt 
and  grass-green  overalls.  An  enlarged  picture 
of  John  himself  glared  grimly  from  a  very 
heavy  frame,  on  the  opposite  wall,  the  grim- 
ness  of  it  somewhat  relieved  by  the  row  of 
Sunday-school  "big  cards"  that  were  stuck 
in  around  the  frame. 

On  the  afternoon  that  Mrs.  Watson  had 
received  the  uplifting  talk  on  motherhood, 
and  Mrs.  Francis  had  entered  it  in  the  little 
red  book,  Pearlie  Watson,  aged  twelve,  was 
keeping  the  house,  as  she  did  six  days  in  the 
week.  The  day  was  too  cold  for  even  Jimmy 
to  be  out,  and  so  all  except  the  three  eldest 
boys  were  in  the  kitchen  variously  engaged. 
Danny  under  promise  of  a  story  was  in  the 
high  chair  submitting  to  a  thorough  going 
over  with  soap  and  water.  Patsey,  looking 
up  from  his  self-appointed  task  of  brushing 
.the  legs  of  the  stove  with  the  hair-brush. 


12        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

loudly  demanded  that  the  story  should  begin 
at  once. 

"  Story,  is  it  ? "  cried  Pearlie  in  her  wrath,  as 
she  took  the  hair-brush  from  Patsey.  "  What 
time  have  I  to  be  thinkin'  of  stories  and  you 
that  full  of  badness.  My  heart  is  bruck  wid  ye. " 

"  I  11  be  good  now,''  Patsey  said,  penitently, 
sitting  on  the  wood -box,  and  tenderly  feeling 
his  skinned  nose.  "  I  got  hurt  to-day,  mind 
that,  Pearlie." 

"So  ye  did,  poor  bye,"  said  Pearlie,  her 
wrath  all  gone,  "  and  what  will  I  tell  yez  about, 
my  beauties?" 

"The  pink  lady  where  Jimmy  brings  the 
milk,"  said  Patsey  promptly. 

"But  it's  me  that's  gettin'  combed," 
wailed  Danny.  "  I  should  say  what  ye'r  to  tell, 
Pearlie." 

"True  for  ye,"  said  Pearlie,  "Howld  ye'r 
tongue,  Patsey.  What  will  I  tell  about, 
honey?" 

"What  Patsey  said  '11  do"  said  Danny  with 
an  injured  air,  "  and  don't  forget  the  chockalut 
drops  she  had  the  day  ma  was  there  and  say 
she  sent  three  o'  them  to  me,  and  you  can 
have  one  o'  them,  Pearlie." 


SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY        13 

"  And  don't  forget  the  big  plate  o'  potatoes 
and  gravy  and  mate  she  gave  the  dog,  and 
the  cake  she  threw  in  the  fire  to  get  red  of  it, ' ' 
said  Mary,  who  was  knitting  a  sock  for  Teddy. 

"No,  don't  tell  that,"  said  Jimmy,  "it 
always  makes  wee  Bugsey  cry." 

"Well,"  began  Pearlie,  as  she  had  done 
many  times  before.  "  Once  upcn  a  time  not 
very  long  ago,  there  lived  a  lovely  pink  lady  in 
a  big  house  painted  red,  with  windies  in  ivery 
side  of  it,  and  a  bell  on  tho  front  dure,  and  a 
velvet  carpet  on  the  stair  and  — 

"What 's  a  stair?"  asked  Bugsey. 

"  It 's  a  lot  of  boxes  piled  up  higher  and 
higher,  and  nailed  down  tight  so  that  ye  can 
walk  on  them,  and  when  yo  get  away  up  high, 
there  is  another  house  right  f arninst  ye  —  well 
anyway,  there  was  a  lovely  pianny  in  the 
parlow,  and  flowers  in  the  windies,  and  two 
yalla  burds  that  sing  as  if  their  hearts  wud 
break,  and  the  windies  had  a  border  of 
coloured  glass  all  around  them,  and  long  white 
curtings  full  of  holes,  but  they  like  them  all 
the  better  o'  that,  for  it  shows  they  are  owld 
and  must  ha'  been  good  to  ha'  stood  it  so  long. 
Well,  annyway,  there  was  a  little  boy  called 


i4        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

Jimmie  Watson"— here  all  eyes  were  turned  on 
Jimmy,  who  was  sitting  on  the  floor  mending 
his  moccasin  with  a  piece  of  sinew.  "  There 
was  a  little  boy  called  Jimmy  Watson  who 
used  to  carry  milk  to  the  lady's  back  dure, 
and  a  girl  with  black  eyes  and  white  teeth  all 
smiley  used  to  take  it  from  him,  and  put  it  in 
a  lovely  pitcher  with  birds  flying  all  over  it. 
But  one  day  the  lady,  herself,  was  there  all 
dressed  in  lovely  pink  velvet  and  lace,  and  a 
train  as  long  as  from  me  to  you,  and  she  sez  to 
Jimmy,  sez  she,  'Have  you  any  sisters  or 
brothers  at  home,'  and  Jim  speaks  up  real 
proud-like,  'Just  nine,'  he  sez,  and  sez  she, 
swate  as  you  please,  'Oh,  that 's  lovely !  Are 
they  all  as  purty  as  you?'  she  sez,  and 
Jimmy  sez,  Turtier  if  anything,'  and  she 
sez,  'I  '11  be  steppin'  over  to-day  to  see  yer 
ma,'  and  Jim  ran  home  and  told  them  all,  and 
they  all  got  brushed  and  combed  and  actin' 
good,  and  in  she  comes,  laving  her  carriage 
at  the  dure,  and  her  in  a  long  pink  velvet  cape 
draggin'  behind  her  on  the  flure,  and  wide 
white  fer  all  around  it,  her  silk  skirts  creakin' 
like  a  bag  of  cabbage  and  the  eyes  of  her  just 
dancin'out  of  her  head,  and  she  says,  These 


SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY         15 

are  fine  purty  childer  ye  have  here,  Mrs. 
Watson.  This  is  a  rale  purty  girl,  this  oldest 
one.  What's  her  name?'  and  ma  ups  and 
tells  her  it  is  Rebecca  Jane  Pearl,  named  for 
her  two  grandmothers,  and  Pearl  just  for 
short.  She  says,  'I'll  be  for  taking  you  home 
wid  me,  Pearlie,  to  play  the  pianny  forme,' 
and  then  she  asks  all  around  what  the  chil- 
dren's names  is,  and  then  she  brings  out  a  big 
box,  from  under  her  cape,  all  tied  wid  store 
string,  and  she  planks  it  on  the  table  and 
tearin'  off  the  string,  she  sez,  'Now,  Pearlie, 
it 's  ladies  first,  tibby  sure.  What  would  you* 
like  to  see  in  here?'  And  I  says  up  quick  — 
'A  long  coat  wid  fer  on  it,  and  a  handkerchief 
smellin'  strong  of  satchel  powder,'  and  she 
whipped  them  out  of  the  box  and  threw  them 
on  my  knee,  and  a  new  pair  of  red  mitts  too. 
And  then  she  says,  'Mary,  acushla,  it  's  your 
turn  now. '  And  Mary  says,  '  A  doll  with  a 
real  head  on  it,'  and  there  it  was  as  big  as 
Danny,  all  dressed  in  green  satin,  opening  its 
eyes,  if  you  plaze." 

"Now,  me!"  roared  Danny,   squirming   in 
his  chair- 

"  'Daniel  Mulcahey  Watson,  what  wud  you 


16        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

like?'  she  says,  and  Danny  ups  and  says: 
'Chockaluts  and  candy  men  and  'taffy  and 
curren'  buns  and  ginger  bread,'  and  she  had 
every  wan  of  them." 

" '  Robert  Roblin  Watson,  him  as  they  call 
Bugsey,  what  would  you  like?'  and  'Patrick 
Healy  Watson,  as  is  called  Patsey,  what  is 
your  choice?'  says  she,  and 

In  the  confusion  that  ensued  while  these 
two  young  gentlemen  thus  referred  to  stated 
their  modest  wishes,  their  mother  came  in, 
tired  and  pale,  from  her  hard  day's  work. 

"How  is  the  pink  lady  to-day,  ma?"  asked 
Pearlie,  setting  Danny  down  and  beginning 
operations  on  Bugsey. 

"  Oh,  she  's  as  swate  as  ever,  an'  can  talk 
that  soft  and  kind  about  children  as  to  melt 
the  heart  in  ye." 

Danny  crept  up  on  his  mother's  knee, 
"Ma,  did  she  give  ye  pie?"  he  asked,  wist- 
fully. 

"Yes,  me  beauty,  and  she  sent  this  to  you 
wid  her  love,"  and  Mrs.  Watson  took  a 
small  piece  out  of  a  newspaper  from  under 
her  cape.  It  was  the  piece  that  had 
been  set  on  the  kitchen  table  for  Mrs 


SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY        17 

Watson's  dinner.  Danny  called  them  all  to 
have  a  bite. 

"Sure  it 's  the  first  bite  that 's  always  the 
best,  a  body  might  not  like  it  so  well  on  the 
second,"  said  Jimmy  as  he  took  his,  but  Bug- 
sey  refused  to  have  any  at  all.  "  Wan  bite's 
no  good, "  he  said,  "it  just  lets  yer  see  what 
yer  missin." 

"D'ye  think  she'll  ever  come  to  see  us, 
ma?"  asked  Pearlie,  as  she  set  Danny  in  the 
chair  to  give  him  his  supper.  The  family 
was  fed  in  divisions.  Danny  was  always  in 
Division  A. 

"Her?  Is  it?"  said  Mrs.  Waston  and  they 
all  listened,  for  Pearlie's  story  to-day  had  far 
surpassed  all  her  former  efforts,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  there  must  be  some  hope  of  its  coming 
true.  "Why  och!  childer  dear,  d'ye  think  a 
foine  lady  like  her  would  be  bothered  with 
the  likes  of  us?  She  is  r'adin'  her  book,  and 
writin'  letthers,  and  thinkin'  great  thoughts, 
all  the  time.  When  she  was  speakin'  to  me  to- 
day, she  looked  at  me  so  wonderin'  and  faraway 
Icouldseethatshethought  I  was  n't  there  at  all 
at  all,  and  me  farninst  her  all  the  time — nochil- 
der,  dear,  don't  be  thinkin'  of  it,  and  Pearlie,  I 


i8        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

think  ye  'd  better  not  be  puttin'  notions  inter 
their  heads.  Yer  father  would  n't  like  it.  Well 
Danny,  me  man,  how  goes  it?"  went  on  Mrs. 
Watson,  as  her  latest  born  was  eating  his 
rather  scanty  supper.  "It  's  not  skim  milk 
and  dhry  bread  ye  'd  be  havin',  if  you  were 
her  child  this  night,  but  taffy  candy  rilled  wid 
nuts  and  chunks  o'  cake  as  big  as  yer  head." 
Whereupon  Danny  wailed  dismally,  and  had 
to  be  taken  from  his  chair  and  have  the 
"Little  Boy  Blue"  sung  to  him,  before  he 
could  be  induced  to  go  on  with  his  supper. 

The  next  morning  when  Jimmy  brought  the 
milk  to  Mrs.  Francis's  back  door  the  dark- 
eyed  girl  with  the  "smiley"  teeth  let  him  in, 
and  set  a  chair  beside  the  kitchen  stove  for 
him  to  warm  his  little  blue  hands.  While 
she  was  emptying  the  milk  into  the  pitcher  with 
the  birds  on  it,  Mrs.  Francis,  with  a  wonder- 
ful pink  kimono  on,  came  into  the  kitchen. 

"Who  is  this  boy,  Camilla?"  she  asked, 
regarding  Jimmy  with  a  critical  gaze. 

"  This  is  Master  James  Watson,  Mrs.  Fran- 
cis, "  answered  Camilla  with  her  pleasant  smile. 
"He  brings  the  milk  every  morning." 


SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY        19 

"Oh  yes;  of  course,  I  remember  now," 
said  Mrs.  Francis,  adjusting  her  glasses. 
"  How  old  is  the  baby,  James?" 

"  Danny  is  it  ? "  said  Jim.  "  He  's  four  come 
March." 

"  Is  he  very  sweet  and  cunning  James,  and 
do  you  love  him  very  much?" 

"Oh,  he's  all  right,"  Jim  answered 
sheepishly. 

"It  is  a  great  privilege  to  have  a  little 
brother  like  Daniel.  You  must  be  careful  to 
set  before  him  a  good  example  of  honesty  and 
sobriety.  He  will  be  a  man  some  day,  and  if 
properly  trained  he  may  be  a  useful  factor 
in  the  uplifting  and  refining  of  the  world.  I 
love  little  children,"  she  went  on  rapturously, 
looking  at  Jimmy  as  if  he  was  n't  there  at  all, 
"  and  I  would  love  to  train  one,  for  service  in 
the  world  to  uplift  and  refine." 

"Yes  ma'am,"  said  Jimmy.  He  felt  that 
something  was  expected  of  him,  but  he  was 
not  sure  what. 

"  Will  you  bring  Daniel  to  see  me  to-mor- 
row, James?"  she  said,  as  Camilla  handed 
him  his  pail.  "I  would  like  to  speak  to 
his  young  mind  and  endeavour  to  plant 


20       SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

the  seeds  of  virtue  and  honesty  in  that  fertile 
soil." 

When  Jimmy  got  home  he  told  Pearlie  ol 
his  interview  with  the  pink  lady,  as  mud 
as  he  could  remember.  The  only  thing  thai 
he  was  sure  of  was  that  she  wanted  to  see 
Danny,  and  that  she  had  said  something  aboul 
planting  seeds  in  him. 

Jimmy  and  Pearlie  thought  it  best  not  tc 
mention  Danny's  proposed  visit  to  theii 
mother,  for  they  knew  that  she  would  be 
fretting  about  his  clothes,  and  would  be  sitting 
up  mending  and  sewing  for  him  when  she 
should  be  sleeping.  So  they  resolved  to  sa) 
"nothin'  to  nobody." 

The  next  day  their  mother  went  away  earl) 
to  wash  for  the  Methodist  minister's  wife,  anc 
that  was  always  a  long  day's  work. 

Then  the  work  of  preparation  began  or 
Danny.  A  wash-basin  full  of  snow  was  pu1 
on  the  stove  to  melt,  and  Danny  was  put  ir 
the  high  chair  which  was  always  the  place 
of  his  ablutions. 

Pearlie  began  to  think  aloud.  "Bugsey, 
your  stockin's  are  the  best.  Off  wid  them, 


SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY        21 

Mary,  and  mend  the  hole  in  the  knees  of  them, 
and,  Bugsey,  hop  into  bed  for  we  '11  be  needin' 
your  pants  anyway.  It 's  awful  stylish  for 
a  little  lad  like  Danny  to  be  wearin'  pants 
under  his  dresses,  and  now  what  about  boots? 
Let's  see  yours,  Patsey.  They  're  all  gone  in 
the  uppers,  and  Billy's  are  too  big,  even  if 
they  were  here,  but  they  're  off  to  school  on 
him.  I  '11  tell  you  what  Mary,  hurry  up  wid 
that  sock  o'  Ted's  and  we  '11  draw  them  on 
him  over  Bugsey's  boots  and  purtind  they  're 
overstockin's,  and  I  '11  carry  him  all  the  way 
so  's  not  to  dirty  them." 

Mary  stopped  her  dish-washing,  and  drying 
her  hands  on  the  thin  towel  that  hung  over 
the  looking  glass,  found  her  knitting  and 
began  to  knit  at  the  top  of  her  speed. 

"  Is  n't  it  good  we  have  that  dress  o'  his, 
so  good  yet,  that  he  got  when  we  had  all  of 
yez  christened.  Put  the  irons  on  there  Mary; 
never  mind,  don't  stop  your  knittin'.  I  '11 
do  it  myself.  We  11  press  it  out  a  bit,  and 
we  can  put  ma's  handkerchief,  the  one  pa  gev 
her  for  Christmas,  around  his  neck,  sort  o' 
sailor  collar  style,  to  show  he's  a  boy.  And  now 
the  snow  is  melted,  I  '11  go  at  him.  Don't 


22        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

cry  now  Danny,  man,  yer  going'  up  to  the  big 
house  where  the  lovely  pink  lady  lives  that 
has  the  chocaklut  drops  on  her  stand  and 
chunks  of  cake  on  the  table  wid  nuts  in  them  as 
big  as  marbles.  There  now,"  continued  Pear- 
lie,  putting  the  towel  over  her  finger  and 
penetrating  Danny's  ear,  "she'll  not  say 
she  can  plant  seeds  in  you.  Yer  ears  are  as 
clean  as  hers, ' '  and  Pearlie  stood  back  and  took 
a  critical  view  of  Danny's  ears  front  and  back. 

"  Chockaluts? "  asked  Danny  to  be  sure  that 
he  had  n't  been  mistaken. 

"Yes,"  went  on  Pearlie  to  keep  him  still 
while  she  fixed  his  shock  of  red  hair  into  stub- 
born little  curls,  and  she  told  again  with  ever 
growing  enthusiasm  the  story  of  the  pink 
lady,  and  the  wonderful  things  she  had  in  the 
box  tied  up  with  store  string. 

At  last  Danny  was  completed  and  stood 
on  a  chair  for  inspection.  But  here  a  digres- 
sion from  the  main  issue  occurred,  for  Bugsey 
had  grown  tired  of  his  temporary  confinement 
and  complained  that  Patsey  had  not  con- 
tributed one  thing  to  Danny's  wardrobe 
while  he  had  had  to  give  up  both  his  stock- 
ings and  his  pants. 


SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY        23 

Pearlie  stopped  in  the  work  of  combing  her 
own  hair  to  see  what  could  be  done. 

"Patsey,  where 's  your  gum?"  she  asked. 
"Git  it  for  me  this  minute,"  and  Patsey  went 
to  the  "fallen  leaf"  of  the  table  and  found  it 
on  the  inside  where  he  had  put  it  for  safe 
keeping. 

"Now  you  give  that  to  Bugsey,"  she  said, 
"  and  that  11  make  it  kind  o'  even  though  it 
does  look  as  if  you  wuz  gettin'  off  pretty 
light." 

Pearlie  struggled  with  her  hair  to  make  it 
lie  down  and  "  act  dacint/'  but  the  image  that 
looked  back  at  her  from  the  cracked  glass  was 
not  encouraging,  even  after  making  allowance 
for  the  crack,  but  she  comforted  herself  by 
saying,  "  Sure  it  's  Danny  she  wants  to  see, 
and  she  won't  be  lookin'  much  at  me  any- 
way." 

Then  the  question  arose,  and  for  a  while 
looked  serious — What  was  Danny  to  wear  on 
his  head?  Danny  had  no  cap,  nor  ever  had 
one.  There  was  one  little  red  toque  in  the 
house  that  Patsey  wore,  but  by  an  unfortu- 
nate accident,  it  had  that  very  morning  fal- 
len into  the  milk  pail  and  was  now  drying  on 


24        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

the  oven  door.  For  a  while  it  seemed  as  if 
the  visit  would  have  to  be  postponed  until 
it  dried,  when  Mary  had  an  inspiration. 

"Wrap  yer  cloud  around  his  head  and  say 
you  wuz  feart  of  the  earache,  the  day  is  so 
cold." 

This  was  done  and  a  blanket  off  one  of  the 
beds  was  pressed  into  service  as  an  outer  wrap 
for  Danny.  He  was  in  such  very  bad  humour 
at  being  wrapped  up  so  tight  that  Pearlie  had 
to  set  him  down  on  the  bed  again  to  get  a 
fresh  grip  on  him. 

"  It 's  just  as  well  I  have  no  mitts, "  she  said 
as  she  lifted  her  heavy  burden.  "  I  could  n't 
howld  him  at  all  if  I  was  bothered  with  mitts. 
Open  the  dure,  Patsey,  and  mind  you  shut  it 
tight  again.  Keep  up  the  fire,  Mary.  Bugsey, 
lie  still  and  chew  your  gum,  and  don't  fight 
any  of  yez." 

When  Pearlie  and  her  heavy  burden  arrived 
at  Mrs.  Francis's  back  door  they  were  ad- 
mitted by  the  dark-haired  Camilla,  who  set 
a  rocking-chair  beside  the  kitchen  stove  for 
Pearlie  to  sit  in  while  she  unrolled  Danny, 
and  when  Danny  in  his  rather  remarkable 


SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY        25 

costume  stood  up  on  Pearlie's  knee,  Camilla 
laughed  so  good  humouredly  that  Danny  felt 
the  necessity  of  showing  her  all  his  accom- 
plishments and  so  made  the  face  that  Patsey 
had  taught  him  by  drawing  down  his  eyes, 
and  putting  his  fingers  in  his  mouth.  Danny 
thought  she  liked  it  very  much,  for  she  went 
hurriedly  into  the  pantry  and  brought  back 
a  cookie  for  him.  ; 

The  savoury  smell  of  fried  salmon,  for  it 
was  near  lunch  time,  increased  Danny's 
interest  in  his  surroundings,  and  his  eyes  were 
big  with  wonder  when  Mrs.  Francis  herself 
came  in. 

"And  is  this  little  Daniel!"  she  cried  rap- 
turously. "So  sweet;  so  innocent;  so  pure! 
Did  Big  Sister  carry  him  all  the  way?  Kind 
Big  Sister.  Does  oo  love  Big  Sister  ? ' ' 

"Nope,"  Danny  spoke  up  quickly,  "just 
likechockaluts." 

"How  sweet  of  him,  isn't  it,  really? "she 
said,  "with  the  world  all  before  him,  the  great 
untried  future  lying  vast  and  prophetic  wait- 
ing for  his  baby  feet  to  enter.  Well  has  Dr. 
Parker  said:  'A  little  child  is  a  bundle  of 
possibilities  and  responsibilities.' " 


26        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

"  If  ye  please,  ma'am,"  Pearlie  said  timidly, 
not  wishing  to  contradict  the  lady,  but  still 
anxious  to  set  her  right,  "it  was  just  this 
blanket  I  had  him  rolled  in." 

At  which  Camilla  again  retired  to  the  pantry 
with  precipitate  haste. 

"Did  you  see  the  blue,  blue  sky,  Daniel, 
and  the  white,  white  snow,  and  did  you  see 
the  little  snow-birds,  whirling  by  like  brown 
leaves?"  Mrs.  Francis  asked  with  an  air  of 
great  childishness. 

"Nope,"  said  Danny  shortly,  "did  n't  see 
nothin'." 

"Please,  ma'am,"  began  Pearlie  again,  "it 
was  the  cloud  around  his  head  on  account  of 
the  earache  that  done  it." 

"It  is  sweet  to  look  into  his  innocent 
young  eyes  and  wonder  what  visions  they 
will  some  day  see,"  went  on  Mrs.  Francis, 
dreamily,  but  there  she  stopped  with  a 
look  of  horror  frozen  on  her  face,  for  at 
the  mention  of  his  eyes  Danny  remembered 
his  best  trick  and  how  well  it  had  worked 
on  Camilla,  and  in  a  flash  his  eyes  were 
drawn  down  and  his  mouth  stretched  to  its 
utmost  limit. 


SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY        27 

"What  ails  the  child?"  Mrs.  Francis  cried 
in  alarm.  "Camilla,  come  here." 

Camilla  came  out  of  the  pantry  and  gazed 
at  Danny  with  sparkling  eyes,  while  Pearlie, 
on  the  verge  of  tears,  vainly  tried  to  awaken 
in  him  some  sense  of  the  shame  he  was  bring- 
ing on  her.  Camilla  hurried  to  the  pantry 
again,  and  brought  another  cookie.  "I 
believe,  Mrs.  Francis,  that  Danny  is  hungry," 
she  said .  "  Children  sometimes  act  that  way, ' ' 
she  added,  laughing. 

"Really,  how  very  interesting;  I  must  see 
if  Dr.  Parker  mentions  this  strange  phe- 
nomenon in  his  book." 

"  Please,  ma'am,  I  think  I  had  better  take 
him  home  now,"  said  Pearlie.  She  knew 
what  Danny  was;  and  was  afraid  that  greater 
disgrace  might  await  her.  But  when  she 
tried  to  get  him  back  into  the  blanket  he  lost 
every  joint  in  his  body  and  slipped  to  the 
floor.  This  is  what  she  had  feared  —  Danny 
had  gone  limber. 

"I  don't  want  to  go  home"  he  wailed  dis- 
mally. "I  want  to  stay  with  her,  and  her; 
want  to  see  the  yalla  burds,  want  a  chock- 
alut." 


28        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

"Come  Danny,  that's  a  man,"  pleaded 
Pearlie,  "and  I  '11  tell  you  all  about  the  lovely 
pink  lady  when  we  go  home,  and  I  '11  get 
Bugsey's  gum  for  ye  and  I  '11 " 

"No,"  Danny  roared,  "tell  me  now  about 
the  pink  lady,  tell  her,  and  her." 

"Wait  till  we  get  home,  Danny  man." 
Pearlie's  grief  flowed  afresh.  Disgrace  had 
fallen  on  the  Watsons,  and  Pearlie  knew  it. 

"It  would  be  interesting  to  know  what 
mental  food  this  little  mind  has  been  receiving. 
Please  do  tell  him  the  story,  Pearlie." 

Thus  admonished,  Pearlie,  with  flaming 
cheeks  began  the  story.  She  tried  to  make  it 
less  personal,  but  at  every  change  Danny 
screamed  his  disapproval,  and  held  her  to  the 
original  version,  and  when  it  was  done,  he 
looked  up  with  his  sweet  little  smile,  and 
said  to  Mrs.  Francis  nodding  his  head. 
"You  're  it!  You  're  the  lovely  pink  lady." 
There  was  a  strange  flush  on  Mrs.  Francis's 
face,  and  a  strange  feeling  stirring  her  heart, 
as  she  hurriedly  rose  from  her  chair  and 
clasped  Danny  in  her  arms. 

"Danny!  Danny!"  she  cried,  "you  shall 
see  the  yellow  birds,  and  the  stairs,  and  the 


SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY        29 

ohocolates  on  the  dresser,  and  the  pink  lady 
will  come  to-morrow  with  the  big  parcel." 

Danny's  little  arms  tightened  around  her 
neck. 

"  It  's  her,"  he  shouted.     "  It's  her." 

When  Mrs.  Burton  Francis  went  up  to  her 
sitting-room,  a  few  hours  later  to  get  the 
"satchel"  powder  to  put  in  the  box  that  was 
to  be  tied  with  the  store  string,  the  sun  was 
shining  on  the  face  of  the  Madonna  on  the 
wall,  and  it  seemed  to  smile  at  her  as  she 
passed. 

The  little  red  book  lay  on  the  table  for- 
gotten. She  tossed  it  into  the  waste-paper 
basket. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    OLD    DOCTOR 

CLOSE  beside  Mrs.  Francis's  comfortable 
home  stood  another  large  house, 
weather-beaten  and  dreary  looking,  a  house 
whose  dilapidated  verandas  and  broken  fence 
clearly  indicated  that  its  good  days  had  gone 
by.  In  the  summer-time  vines  and  flowers 
grew  around  it  to  hide  its  scars  and  relieve 
its  grimness,  pathetic  as  a  brave  smile  on  a 
sad  face. 

Dr.  Earner,  brilliant,  witty  and  skilful,  had 
for  many  years  been  a  victim  of  intemper- 
ance, but  being  Scotch  to  the  backbone,  he 
never  could  see  how  good,  pure  "Kilmarnock," 
made  in  Glasgow,  could  hurt  anyone.  He 
knew  that  his  hand  shook,  and  his  brain 
reeled,  and  his  eyes  were  bleared;  but  he 
never  blamed  the  whiskey.  He  knew  that 
his  patients  sometimes  died  while  he  was 
enjoying  a  protracted  drunk,  but  of  course, 

3° 


THE  OLD  DOCTOR  31 

accidents  will  happen,  and  a  doctor's  accidents 
are  soon  buried  and  forgotten.  Even  in  his 
worst  moments,  if  he  could  be  induced  to 
come  to  the  sick  bed,  he  would  sober  up  won- 
derfully, and  many  a  sufferer  was  relieved 
from  pain  and  saved  from  death  by  his  gentle 
and  skilful,  though  trembling,  hands.  He 
might  not  be  able  to  walk  across  the  room, 
but  he  could  diagnose  correctly  and  prescribe 
successfully. 

When  he  came  to  Millford  years  ago,  his 
practice  grew  rapidly.  People  wondered  why 
he  came  to  such  a  small  place,  for  his  skill,  his 
wit,  his  wonderful  presence  would  have  won 
distinction  anywhere. 

His  wife,  a  frail  though  very  beautiful 
woman,  at  first  thought  nothing  of  his  drink- 
ing habits  —  he  was  never  anything  but 
gentlemanly  in  her  presence.  But  the  time 
came  when  she  saw  honour  and  manhood 
slowly  but  surely  dying  in  him,  and  on  her 
heart  there  fell  the  terrible  weight  of  a  power- 
less despair.  Her  health  had  never  been 
robust  and  she  quickly  sank  into  invalidism. 

The  specialist  who  came  from  Winnipeg 
diagnosed  her  case  as  chronic  anaemia  and  pre- 


32        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

scribed  port  wine,  which  she  refused  with  a 
queer  little  wavering  cry  and  a  sudden  rush  of 
tears.  But  she  put  up  a  good  fight  neverthe- 
less. She  wanted  to  live  so  much,f  or  the  sake  of 
Mary,  her  beautiful  fifteen- year-old  daughter. 

Mrs.  Earner  did  not  live  to  see  the  whole 
work  of  degeneration,  for  the  end  came  in  the 
early  spring,  swift  and  sudden  and  kind. 

The  doctor's  grief  for  his  wife  was  sincere. 
He  always  referred  to  her  as  "my  poor  Mil- 
dred," and  never  spoke  of  her  except  when 
comparatively  sober. 

Mary  Earner  took  up  the  burden  of  caring 
for  her  father  without  question,  for  she  loved 
him  with  a  great  and  pitying  love,  to  which 
he  responded  in  his  best  moments.  In  the 
winter  she  went  with  him  on  his  drives  night 
and  day,  for  the  fear  of  what  might  happen 
was  always  in  her  heart.  She  was  his  house- 
keeper, his  office-girl,  his  bookkeeper;  she 
endured  all  things,  loneliness,  poverty,  dis- 
grace, without  complaining  or  bitterness. 

One  day  shortly  after  Mrs.  Earner's  death 
big  John  Robertson  from  "the  hills"  drove 
furiously  down  the  street  to  the  doctor's 
house,  and  rushed  into  the  office  without 


THE  OLD  DOCTOR  33 

ringing  the  bell.  His  little  boy  had  been  cut 
with  the  mower-knives,  and  he  implored  the 
doctor  to  come  at  once. 

The  doctor  sat  at  his  desk,  just  drunk 
enough  to  be  ugly-tempered,  and  curtly  told 
Mr.  Robertson  to  go  straight  to  perdition,  and 
as  the  poor  man,  wild  with  excitement,  begged 
him  to  come  and  offered  him  money,  he 
yawned  nonchalantly,  and  with  some  slight 
variations  repeated  the  injunction. 

Mary  hearing  the  conversation  came  in 
hurriedly. 

"Mary,  my  dear,"  the  doctor  said,  "please 
leave  us.  This  gentleman  is  quite  forgetting 
himself  and  his  language  is  shocking."  Mary 
did  not  even  look  at  her  father.  She  was 
packing  his  little  satchel  with  all  that  would  be 
needed. 

"  Now  pick  him  up  and  take  him,"  she  said 
firmly  to  big  John.  "He  11  be  all  right  when 
he  sees  your  little  boy,  never  mind  what  he 
says  now." 

Big  John  seized  the  doctor  and  bore  him 
struggling  and  protesting  to  the  wagon. 

The  doctor  made  an  effort  to  get  out. 

"Put  him  down  in  the  bottom  with  this 


34        SOWING  SEEDS  IN.  DANNY 

under  his  head"  -handing  Big  John  a  cush- 
ion—  "and  put  your  feet  on  him,"  Mary 
commanded. 

Big  John  did  as  she  bid  him,  none  too  gently, 
for  he  could  still  hear  his  little  boy's  cries  and 
see  that  cruel  jagged  wound. 

"Oh,  don't  hurt  him,"  she  cried  piteously, 
and  ran  sobbing  into  the  house.  Upstairs,  in 
what  had  been  her  mother's  room,  she  pressed 
her  face  against  her  mother's  kimono  that 
still  hung  behind  the  door.  "  I  am  not  crying 
for  you  to  come  back,  mother,"  she  sobbed 
bitterly,  "I  am  just  crying  for  your  little 
girl." 

The  doctor  was  asleep  when  John  reached 
his  little  shanty  in  the  hills.  The  child  still 
lived,  his  Highland  mother  having  stopped 
the  blood  with  rude  bandaging  and  ashes,  a 
remedy  learned  in  her  far-off  island  home. 

John  shook  the  doctor  roughly  and  cursed 
him  soundly  in  both  English  and  Gaelic,  with- 
out avail,  but  the  child's  cry  so  full  of  pain  and 
weakness  roused  him  with  a  start.  In  a 
minute  Dr.  Frederick  Barner  was  himself. 
He  took  the  child  gently  from  his  mother  and 
laid  him  on  the  bed. 


THE  OLD  DOCTOR  35 

For  two  days  the  doctor  stayed  in  John's 
dirty  little  shanty,  caring  for  little  Murdock  as 
tenderly  as  a  mother.  He  cooked  for  the 
child,  he  sang  to  him,  he  carried  him  in  his 
arms  for  hours,  and  soothed  him  with  a  hun- 
dred quaint  fancies.  He  superintended  the 
cleaning  of  the  house  and  scolded  John's  wife 
soundly  on  her  shiftless  ways ;  he  showed  her 
how  to  oake  bread  and  cook  little  dishes  to 
tempt  the  child's  appetite,  winning  thereby 
her  undying  gratitude.  She  understood  but 
little  of  the  scolding,  but  she  saw  his  kindness 
to  her  little  boy,  for  kindness  is  the  same  in 
all  languages. 

On  the  third  day,  the  little  fellow's  fever 
went  down  and,  peeping  over  the  doctor's 
shoulder,  he  smiled  and  chattered  and  asked 
for  his  "daddy"  and  his  "mathar." 

Then  Big  John  broke  down  utterly  and  tried 
to  speak  his  gratitude,  but  the  doctor  abruptly 
told  him  to  quit  his  blubbering  and  hitch  up, 
for  little  Murdock  would  be  chasing  the  hens 
again  in  a  week  or  two. 

The  doctor  went  faithfully  every  day 
and  dressed  little  Murdock's  wound  until 
it  no  longer  needed  his  care,  remaining 


36        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

perfectly  sober  meanwhile.  Hope  sprang 
up  in  Mary's  heart— for  love  believeth  all 
things. 

At  night  when  he  went  to  bed  and  she  care- 
fully locked  the  doors  and  took  the  keys  to 
her  room,  she  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief.  One 
more  day  won! 

But  alas  for  Mary's  hopes!  They  were 
built  upon  the  slipping,  sliding  sands  of  human 
desire.  One  night  she  found  him  in  the  office 
of  the  hotel;  a  red-faced,  senseless,  gibbering 
old  man,  arguing  theology  with  a  brother 
Scotchman,  who  was  in  the  same  condition 
of  mellow  exhilaration. 

Mary's  white  face  as  she  guided  her  father 
through  the  door  had  an  effect  upon  the  men 
who  sat  around  the  office.  Kind-hearted  fel- 
lows they  were,  and  they  felt  sorry  for  the 
poor  little  motherless  girl,  sorry  for  "old 
Doc  "  too.  One  after  another  they  went  home, 
feeling  just  a  little  ashamed. 

The  bartender,  a  new  one  from  across  the 
line,  a  dapper  chap  with  diamonds,  was 
indignant.  "I  '11  give  that  old  man  a 
straight  pointer,"  he  said,  "that  his  girl 
has  to  stay  out  of  here.  This  is  no  place 


THE  OLD  DOCTOR  37 

for  women,  anyway" — which   is   true,  God 
knows. 

Five  years  went  by  and  Mary  Earner  lived 
on  in  the  lonely  house  and  did  all  that  human 
power  could  do  to  stay  her  father's  evil  course. 
But  the  years  told  heavily  upon  him.  He  had 
made  some  fatal  mistakes  in  his  prescribing, 
and  the  people  had  been  compelled  to  get  in 
another  doctor,  though  a  great  many  of  those 
who  had  known  him  in  his  best  days  still 
clung  to  the  "old  man"  in  spite  of  his  drink- 
ing. They  could  not  forget  how  he  had  fought 
with  death  for  them  and  for  their  children. 

Of  all  his  former  skill  but  little  remained 
now  except  his  wonderful  presence  in  the 
sick-room 

He  could  still  inspire  the  greatest  con- 
fidence and  hope.  Still  at  his  coming  a  sick 
man's  fears  fell  away  from  him,  and  in  their 
stead  came  hope  and  good  cheer.  This  was 
the  old  man's  good  gift  that  even  his  years 
of  sinning  could  not  wholly  destroy.  God 
had  marked  him  for  a  great  physician. 


106233 


CHAPTER  III 

THE    PINK   LADY 

TT  THEN  Mrs.  Francis  decided  to  play  the 
V V  Lady  Bountiful  to  the  Watson  family, 
she  not  only  ministered  to  their  physical  ne- 
cessity but  she  conscientiously  set  about 
to  do  them  good,  if  they  would  be  done 
good  to.  Mrs.  Francis's  heart  was  kind,  when 
you  could  get  to  it;  but  it  was  so  deeply 
crusted  over  with  theories  and  reflections 
and  abstract  truths  that  not  very  many 
people  knew  that  she  had  one. 

When  little  Danny's  arms  were  thrown 
around  her  neck,  and  he  called  her  his  dear 
sweet,  pink  lady,  her  pseudo- intellectuality 
broke  down  before  a  power  which  had  lain 
dormant.  She  had  always  talked  a  great 
deal  of  the  joys  of  motherhood,  and  the  rap- 
turous delights  of  mother-love.  Not  many 
of  the  mothers  knew  as  much  of  the  proper 
care  of  an  infant  during  the  period  of  den- 
38 


THE  PINK  LADY  39 

tition  as  she.  She  had  read  papers  at  mothers' 
meetings,  and  was  as  full  of  health  talks  as  a 
school  physiology. 

But  it  was  the  touch  of  Danny's  soft  cheek 
and  clinging  arms  that  brought  to  her  the 
rapture  that  is  so  sweet  it  hurts,  and  she 
realised  that  she  had  missed  the  sweetest 
thing  in  life.  A  tiny  flame  of  real  love  began 
to  glimmer  in  her  heart  and  feebly  shed  its 
beams  among  the  debris  of  cold  theories  and 
second-hand  sensations  that  had  rilled  it 
hitherto. 

She  worried  Danny  with  her  attentions, 
although  he  tried  hard  to  put  up  with  them. 
She  was  the  lady  of  his  dreams,  for  Pearl's 
imagination  had  clothed  her  with  all  the  vir- 
tues and  graces. 

Hers  was  a  strangely  inconsistent  char- 
acter, spiritually  minded,  but  selfish;  loving 
humanity  when  it  is  spelled  with  a  capital, 
but  knowing  nothing  of  the  individual.  The 
flower  of  holiness  in  her  heart  was  like  the 
haughty  orchid  that  blooms  in  the  hot- 
house, untouched  by  wind  or  cold,  beautiful 
to  behold  but  comforting  no  one  with  its 
beauty. 


40        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

Pearl  Watson  was  like  the  rugged  little 
anemone,  the  wind  flower  that  lifts  its  head 
from  the  cheerless  prairie.  No  kind  hand 
softens  the  heat  or  the  cold,  nor  tempers  the 
wind,  and  yet  the  very  winds  that  blow  upon 
it  and  the  hot  sun  that  beats  upon  it  bring 
to  it  a  grace,  a  hardiness,  a  fragrance  of  good 
cheer,  that  gladdens  the  hearts  of  all  who 
pass  that  way. 

Mrs.  Francis  found  herself  strongly 
attracted  to  Pearl.  Pearl,  the  housekeeper, 
the  homem^ker,  a  child  with  a  woman's 
responsibility,  appealed  to  Mrs.  Francis.  She 
thought  about  Pearl  very  often. 

Noticing  one  day  that  Pearl  was  thin  and 
pale,  she  decided  at  once  that  she  needed  a 
health  talk.  Pearl  sat  like  a  graven  image 
while  Mrs.  Francis  conscientiously  tried  to 
stir  up  in  her  the  seeds  of  right  living. 

"Oh,  ma!"  Pearl  said  to  her  mother  that 
night,  when  the  children  had  gone  to  bed  and 
they  were  sewing  by  the  fire.  "  Oh,  ma !  she 
told  me  more  to-day  about  me  insides  than 
I  would  care  to  remember.  Mind  ye,  ma, 
there  's  a  sthring  down  yer  back  no  bigger  'n 
a  knittin'  needle,  and  if  ye  ever  broke  it  ye  'd 


THE  PINK  LADY  41 

snuff  out  before  ye  knowed  what  ye  was 
doin',  and  there  's  a  tin  pan  in  yer  ear  that  if 
ye  got  a  dinge  in  it,  it  would  n't  be  worth  a 
dhirty  postage  stamp  for  hearin'  wid,  and  ye 
must  n't  skip  ma,  for  it  will  disturb  yer 
Latin  parts,  and  ye  mustn't  eat  seeds,  or 
ye  '11  get  the  thing  that  pa  had  —  what  is  it 
called  ma?" 

Her  mother  told  her. 

"  Yes,  appendicitis,  that  's  what  she  said. 
I  never  knowed  there  were  so  many  places 
inside  a  person  to  go  wrong,  did  ye,  ma?  I 
just  thought  we  had  liver  and  lights  and  a 
few  things  like  that."  t 

"Don't  worry,  alannah,"  her  mother  said 
soothingly,  as  she  cut  out  the  other  leg  of 
Jimmy's  pants.  "The  Lord  made  us  right  I 
guess,  and  he  won't  let  anything  happen  to  us. ' ' 

But  Pearl  was  not  yet  satisfied.  "But,  oh 
ma,"  she  said,  as  she  hastily  worked  a 
buttonhole.  "You  don't  know  about  the 
diseases  that  are  goin'  'round.  Mind  ye, 
there  's  tuberoses  in  the  cows  even,  and  them 
that  sly  about  it,  and  there  's  diseases  in  the 
milk  as  big  as  a  chew  o'  gum  and  us  not  seein' 
them.  Every  drop  of  it  we  use  should  be 


42        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

scalded  well,  and  oh,  ma,  I  wonder  anyone 
of  us  is  alive  for  we  're  not  half  clean !  The 
poison  pours  out  of  the  skin  night  and  day, 
carbolic  acid  she  said,  and  every  last  wan 
o'  us  should  have  a  sponge  bath  at  night 
—  that 's  just  to  slop  yerself  all  up  and 
down  with  a  rag,  and  an  Oliver  in  the  mornin'. 
Ma,  what's  an  oliver,  d  'ye  think?" 

"Ask  Camilla,"  Mrs.  Watson  said,  some- 
what alarmed  at  these  hygienic  problems. 
"  Camilla  is  grand  at  explaining  Mrs.  Francis  's 
quare  ways." 

Pearl's  brown  eyes  were  full  of  worry. 

"It's  hard  to  git  time  to  be  healthy,  ma," 
she  said;  "we  should  keep  the  kittle  bilin' 
all  the  time,  she  says,  to  keep  the  humanity 
in  the  air  —  Oh,  I  wish  she  had  n't  a 
told  me,  I  never  thought  atin'  hurt  any- 
one, but  she  says  lots  of  things  that  taste 
good  is  black  pison.  Is  n't  it  quare,  ma,  the 
Lord  put  such  poor  works  in  us  and  us  not 
there  at  the  time  to  raise  a  hand." 

They  sewed  in  silence  for  a  few  minutes. 

Then  Pearl  said:  "Let  us  go  to  bed  now, 
ma,  me  eyes  are  shuttin'.  I  '11  go  back  to- 
morrow and  ask  Camilla  about  the  'oliver.'  " 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    BAND   OF    HOPE 

MARY  EARNER  had  learned  the  lesson 
early  that  the  only  easing  of  her  own 
pain  was  in  helping  others  to  bear  theirs, 
and  so  it  came  about  that  there  was  per- 
haps no  one  in  Millford  more  beloved  than 
she.  Perhaps  it  was  the  memory  of  her  own 
lost  childhood  that  caused  her  heart  to  go  out 
in  love  and  sympathy  to  every  little  boy  and 
girl  in  the  village. 

Their  joys  were  hers;  their  sorrows  also. 
She  took  slivers  from  little  fingers  with  great 
skill,  beguiling  the  owners  thereof  with  won- 
derful songs  and  stories.  She  piloted  weary 
little  plodders  through  pages  of  "homework." 
She  mended  torn  "pinnies"  so  that  even 
vigilant  mothers  never  knew  that  their 
little  girls  had  jumped  the  fence  at  all. 
She  made  dresses  for  concerts  at  short 
notice.  She  appeased  angry  parents,  and 

43 


44        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

many  a  time  prevented  the  fall  of  correc- 
tion's rod. 

When  Tommy  Watson  beguiled  Ignatius 
McSorley,  Jr.,  to  leave  his  mother's  door,  and 
go  swimming  in  the  river,  promising  faith- 
fully to  ''button  up  his  back"  —Ignatius 
being  a  wise  child  who  knew  his  limitations  — 
and  when  Tommy  Watson  forgot  that  prom- 
ise and  basely  deserted  Ignatius  to  catch  on 
the  back  of  a  buggy  that  came  along  the 
river  road,  leaving  his  unhappy  friend  clad 
in  one  small  shirt,  vainly  imploring  him  to 
return,  Ignatius  could  not  go  home,  for  his 
mother  would  know  that  he  had  again  yielded 
to  the  siren's  voice;  so  it  was  to  the  Earner 
back  door  that  he  turned  his  guilty  steps. 
Miss  Earner  was  talking  to  a  patient  in  the 
office  when  she  heard  a  small  voice  at  the 
kitchen  door  full  of  distress,  whimpering : 

"  Please  Miss  Earner,  I  'm  in  a  bad  way. 
Tommy  Watson  said  he  'd  help  me  and  he 
never!" 

Miss  Earner  went  quickly,  and  there  on  the 
doorstep  stood  a  tiny  cupid  in  tears,  tightly 
clasping  his  scanty  wardrobe  to  his  bosom. 

"  He  said  he  'd  help  me  and  he  never! "  he 


THE  BAND  OF  HOPE  45 

repeated  in  a  burst  of  rage  as  she  drew  him 
in  hastily. 

"Nevermind,  honey,"  she  said,  struggling 
to  control  her  laughter.  "Just  wait  till  I 
catch  Tommy  Watson !" 

Miss  Earner  was  the  assistant  Band  of  Hope 
teacher.  On  Monday  afternoon  it  was  part 
of  her  duty  to  go  around  and  help  the  busy 
mothers  to  get  the  children  ready  for  the 
meeting.  She  also  took  her  turn  with  Mrs. 
White  in  making  taffy,  for  they  had  learned 
that  when  temperance  sentiment  waned, 
taffy,  with  nuts  in  it,  had  a  wonderful  power 
to  bind  and  hold  the  wavering  childish  heart. 

There  was  no  human  way  of  telling  a  taffy 
day  —  the  only  sure  way  was  to  go  every 
time.  The  two  little  White  girls  always  knew, 
but  do  you  think  they  would  tell?  Not  they. 
There  was  secrecy  written  all  over  their  blond 
faces,  and  in  every  strand  of  their  straw- 
coloured  hair.  Once  they  deliberately  stood 
by  and  heard  Minnie  McSorley  and  Mary 
Watson  plan  to  go  down  to  the  creamery  for 
pussy-willows  on  Monday  afternoon  —  there 
were  four  plates  of  taffy  on  their  mother's 
pantry  shelf  at  the  time  and  yet  they  gave 


46        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

no  sign  —  Minnie  McSorley  and  Mary  Watson 
went  blindly  on  and  reaped  a  harvest  of 
regrets. 

There  was  no  use  offering  the  White 
girls  anything  for  the  information.  Glass 
alleys,  paint  cards  or  even  popcorn  rings 
were  powerless  to  corrupt  them.  Once  Jimmy 
Watson  became  the  hero  of  an  hour  by  cir- 
culating the  report  that  he  had  smelled  it 
cooking  when  he  took  the  milk  to  Miss 
Earner's;  but  alas,  for  circumstantial  evi- 
dence. 

Every  child  went  to  Band  of  Hope  that 
Monday  afternoon  eager  and  expectant;  but 
it  was  only  a  hard  lesson  on  the  effect  of 
alcohol  on  the  lining  of  the  stomach  that  they 
got,  and  when  Mrs.  White  complimented 
them  on  their  increased  attendance  and  gave 
out  the  closing  hymn. 

Oh,  what  a  happy  band  are  we! 

the  Hogan  twins  sobbed. 

When  the  meeting  was  over,  Miss  Earner 
exonerated  Jimmy  by  saying  it  was  icing  for 
a  cake  he  had  smelled,  and  the  drooping 
spirits  of  the  Band  were  somewhat  revived 


THE  BAND  OF  HOPE  47 

by  her  promise  that  next  Monday  would 
surely  be  Taffy  Day. 

On  the  last  Monday  of  each  month  the 
Band  of  Hope  had  a  programme  instead  of  the 
regular  lesson.  Before  the  programme  was 
given  the  children  were  allowed  to  tell  stories 
or  ask  questions  relating  to  temperance.  The 
Hogan  twins  were  always  full  of  communica- 
tions, and  on  this  particular  Monday  it  looked 
as  if  they  would  swamp  the  meeting. 

William  Henry  Hogan  (commonly  known 
as  Squirt)  told  to  a  dot  how  many  pairs  of 
shoes  and  bags  of  flour  a  man  could  buy  by 
denying  himself  cigars  for  ten  years.  During 
William  Henry's  recital,  John  James  Hogan, 
the  other  twin,  showed  unmistakable  signs  of 
impatience.  He  stood  up  and  waved  his 
hand  so  violently  that  he  seemed  to  be  in 
danger  of  throwing  that  useful  member  away 
forever.  Mrs.  White  gave  him  permission  to 
speak  as  soon  as  his  brother  had  finished,  and 
John  James  announced  with  a  burst  of  im- 
portance: 

"  Please,  teacher,  my  pa  came  home  last 
night  full  as  a  billy-goat." 

Miss  Barner  put  her  hand  hastily  over  her 


48        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

eyes.     Mrs.  White  gasped,  and  the  Band  of 
Hope  held  its  breath. 

Then  Mrs.  White  hurriedly  announced 
that  Master  James  Watson  would  recite,  and 
Jimmy  went  forward  with  great  outward 
composure  and  recited: 

As  I  was  going  to  the  lake 
I  met  a  little  rattlesnake; 
1  fed  him  with  some  jelly-cake, 
Which  made  his  little 

But  Mrs.  White  interrupted  Jimmy  just  then 
by  saying  that  she  must  insist  on  temperance 
selections  at  these  programmes,  whereat 
Pearlie  Watson's  hand  waved  appealingly, 
and  Miss  Barner  gave  her  permission  to  speak. 

"  Please  ma'am,"  Pearlsaid,  addressing  Mrs. 
White,  "Jimmy  and  me  thought  anything 
about  a  rattlesnake  would  do  for  a  temperance 
piece,  and  if  you  had  only  let  Jimmy  go  on 
you  would  have  seen  what  happened  even  a 
snake  that  et  what  he  had  n't, ought  to,  and 
please  ma'am,  Jimmy  and  me  thought  it 
might  be  a  good  lesson  for  all  of  us." 

Miss  Barner  thought  that  Pearlie's  point 
was  well  taken,  and  took  Jimmy  with  her  into 
the  vestry  from  which  he  emerged  a  few 


THE  BAND  OF  HOPE  49 

minutes  later,  flushed  and  triumphant,  and 
recited  the  same  selection,  with  a  possible 
change  of  text  in  one  pla  -e: 

As  I  was  going  to  the  lake 
I  met  a  little  rattlesnake; 
I  fed  him  on  some  jelly-cake, 
Which  made  his  little  stomach  ache. 

The  musical  committee  then  sang: 

We  're  for  home  and  mother, 

God  and  native  land, 
Grown  up  friend  and  brother, 

Give 'us  now  your  hand. 

and  won  loud  applause.  Little  Sissy  Moore 
knew  only  the  first  verse,  but  it  would  never 
have  been  known  that  she  was  saying  dum- 
dum -  dum  -  dum  -  dum  -  dum  -  dum  -  dum  - 
dum-dum-dum,  if  Mary  Simpson  had  n't  told. 

Wilford  Ducker,  starched  as  stiff  as  boiled 
and  raw  starch  could  make  him,  recited 
"Perish,  King  Alcohol,  we  will  grow  up,"  but 
was  accorded  a  very  indifferent  reception  by 
the  Band  of  Hopers.  Wilford  was  allowed 
to  go  to  Band  of  Hope  only  when  Miss  Earner 
went  for  him  and  escorted  him  home  again. 
Mrs.  Ducker  had  been  very  particular  about 
Wilford  from  the  first. 

Then   the   White   girls   recited    a   strictly 


5o        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

suitable  piece.  It  was  entitled  "The  World 
and  the  Conscience." 

Lily  represented  a  vain  woman  of  the  world 
bent  upon  pleasure  with  a  tendency  toward 
liquid  refreshment.  Her  innocent  china-blue 
eyes  and  flaxen  braids  were  in  strange  con- 
trast to  the  mad  love  of  glittering  wealth 
which  was  supposed  to  fill  her  heart : 

Give  to  me  the  flowing  bowl, 

And  Pleasure's  glittering  crown; 

The  path  of  Pride  shall  be  my  goal, 
And  conscience's  voice  I  '11  drown! 

Then  Blanche  sweetly  admonished  her: 

Oh!  lay  aside  your  idle  boasts, 

No  Pleasure  thus  you  '11  find; 
"  The  flowing  bowl  a  serpent  is 
To  poison  Soul  and  Mind. 

Oh,  sign  our  pledge,  while  yet  you  can, 

Nor  look  upon  the  Wine 
When  it  is  red  within  the  Cup, 

Let  not  its  curse  be  thine! 

Thereupon  the  frivolous  creature  repents  of 
her  waywardness,  and  the  two  little  girls  join 
hands  and  recite  in  unison: 

We  will  destroy  this  giant  King, 
And  drive  him  from  our  land; 

And  on  the  side  of  Temp-er-ance 
We  '11  surely  take  our  stand! 

and  the  piece  was  over. 


THE  BAND  OP  HOPE  51 

Robert  Roblin  Watson  (otherwise  known 
as  Bugsey),  who  had  that  very  day  been  in- 
stalled as  a  member  of  the  Band  of  Hope, 
after  he  had  avowed  his  determination  "never 
to  touch,  taste  nor  handle  alcoholic  stimulants 
in  any  form  as  a  beverage  and  to  discourage 
all  traffic  in  the  same,"  was  the  next  gentle- 
man on  the  programme.  Pearlie  was  sure 
Bugsey's  selection  was  suitable.  She  whis- 
pered to  him  the  very  last  minute  not  to 
forget  his  bow,  but  he  did  forget  it,  and  was 
off  like  a  shot  into  his  piece. 

I  belong  to  the  Band  of  Hope, 
Never  to  drink  and  never  to  smoke ; 
To  love  my  parents  and  Uncle  Sam,     - 
Keep  Alcohol  out  of  my  diaphragm; 
To  say  my  prayers  when  I  go  to  bed, 
And  not  put  the  bedclothes  over  my  head; 
Fill  up  my  lungs  with  oxygen, 
And  be  kind  to  every  living  thing. 

There !  I  guess  there  can't  be  no  kick  about 
that,  Pearl  thought  to  herself  as  Bugsey  fin- 
ished, and  the  applause  rang  out  loud  and 
louder. 

Pearlie  had  forgotten  to  tell  Bugsey  to 
come  down  when  he  was  done,  and  so  he  stood 
irresolute,  as  the  applause  grew  more  and 


52        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

more  deafening.  Pearl  beckoned  and  waved 
and  at  last  got  him  safely  landed,  and  when 
Mrs.  White  announced  that  to-day  was  Taffy 
Day,  owing  to  Miss  Earner's  kindness,  Bug- 
sey's  cup  of  happiness  was  full.  Miss  Earner 
said  she  had  an  extra  big  piece  for  the  youngest 
member,  Master  Danny  Watson.  Pearlie  had 
not  allowed  any  person  to  mention  taffy  to 
him  because  Danny  could  not  bear  to  be 
disappointed. 

But  there  were  no  disappointments  that 
day.  Taffy  enough  for  every  one,  amber- 
coloured  taffy  slabs  with  nuts  in  it,  cream 
taffy  in  luscious  nuggets,  curly  twists  of  brown 
and  yellow  taffy.  Oh  look,  there  's  another 
plateful!  and  it's  coming  this  way.  ''Have 
some  more,  Danny.  Oh,  take  a  bigger  piece, 
there 'slots  of  it."  Was  it  a  dream? 

When  ^the  last  little  Band  of  Hoper  had 
left  the  vestry,  Mary  Earner  sat  alone  with 
her  thoughts,  looking  with  unseeing  eyes  at 
the  red  and  silver  mottoes  on  the  wall.  Pledge 
cards  which  the  children  had  signed  were 
gaily  strung  together  with  ribbons  across  the 
wall  behind  her.  She  was  thinking  of  the 
little  people  who  had  just  gone  —  how  would 


THE  BAND  OF  HOPE  53 

it  be  with  them  in  the  years  to  come?  — they 
were  so  sweet  and  pure  and  lovely  now. 
Unconsciously  she  bowed  her  head  on  her 
hands,  and  a  cry  quivered  from  her  heart. 
The  yellow  sunlight  made  a  ripple  of  golden 
water  on  the  wall  behind  her  and  threw  a 
wavering  radiance  on  her  soft  brown  hair. 

It  was  at  that  moment  that  the  Rev.  Hugh 
Grantley,  the  new  Presbyterian  minister, 
opened  the  vestry  door. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  RELICT  OF  THE  LATE  McGUIRE 

CLOSE  beside  the  Watson  estate  with  its 
strangely  shaped  dwelling  stood  an- 
other small  house,  which  was  the  earthly 
abode  of  one  Mrs.  McGuire,  also  of  Irish 
extraction,  who  had  been  a  widow  for  forty 
years.  Mrs.  McGuire  was  a  tall,  raw-boned, 
angular  woman  with  piercing  black  eyes, 
and  a  firm  forbidding  jaw.  One  look  at  Mrs. 
McGuire  usually  made  a  book  agent  forget 
the  name  of  his  book.  When  she  shut  her 
mouth,  no  lips  were  visible;  her  upturned 
nose  seemed  seriously  to  contemplate  run- 
ning up  under  her  sun  bonnet  to  escape 
from  this  wicked  world  with  all  its  troub- 
ling, and  especially  from  John  Watson,  his 
wife  and  his  family  of  nine. 

One  fruitful  cause  of  dispute  between  Mrs. 
McGuire  and  the  Watsons  was  the  boundary 
line  between  the  two  estates.  In  the  spring 

54 


RELICT  OF  THE  LATE  McGUIRE   55 

Mrs.  Watson  and  the  boys  put  up  a  fence  of 
green  poplar  poles  where  they  thought  the 
fence  should  be,  hoping  that  it  might  serve 
the  double  purpose  of  dividing  the  lots  and 
be  a  social  barrier  between  them  and  the  re- 
lict of  the  late  McGuire.  The  relict  watched 
and  waited  and  said  not  a  word,  but  it  was 
the  ominous  silence  that  comes  before  the 
hail. 

Mrs.  McGuire  hated  the  Watson  family 
collectively,  but  it  was  upon  John  Watson, 
the  man  of  few  words,  that  she  lavished  the 
whole  wealth  of  her  South  of  Ireland  hatred, 
for  John  Watson  had  on  more  than  one 
occasion  got  the  better  of  her  in  a  wordy 
encounter. 

One  time  when  the  boundary  dispute  was 
at  its  height,  she  had  burst  upon  John  as  he 
went  to  his  work  in  the  morning,  with  a  storm 
of  far-reaching  and  comprehensive  epithets. 
She  gave  him  the  history  of  the  Watson 
family,  past,  present  and  future  —  especially 
the  future;  every  Watson  that  ever  left 
Ireland  came  in  for  a  brief  but  pungent 
notice. 

John  stood  thoughtfully  rubbing  his  chin, 


56        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

and  when  she  stopped,  not  from  lack  of  words, 
but  from  lack  of  breath,  he  slowly  remarked : 

"Mistress  McGuire,  yer  a  lady." 

"  Yera  liar!"  she  snapped  back,  with  a  still 
more  eloquent  burst  of  invectives. 

John  lighted  his  pipe  with  great  delibera- 
tion, and  when  it  was  drawing  nicely  he  took 
it  from  his  mouth  and  said,  more  to  himself 
than  to  her: 

"  Stay  where  ye  are,  Pat  McGuire.  It  may 
be  hot  where  ye  are,  but  it  would  be  hotter 
for  ye  if  ye  were  here,  and  ye  'd  jist  have 
the  throuble  o'movin'.  Stay  where  ye  are, 
Pat,  wherever  ye  are."  He  walked  away 
leaving  Mrs.  McGuire  with  the  uncomfortable 
feeling  that  he  had  some  way  got  the  best  of  her. 

The  Watsons  had  planted  their  potatoes 
beside  the  fence,  and  did  not  dream  of  evil. 
But  one  morning  in  the  early  autumn,  the 
earliest  little  Watson  who  went  out  to  get  a 
basin  of  water  out  of  the  rain  barrel,  to  wash 
the  "sleeps"  out  of  his  eyes,  dropped  the 
basin  in  his  astonishment,  for  the  fence  was 
gone  —  it  was  removed  to  Mrs.  McGuire's 
woodpile,  and  the  lady  herself  was  industri- 
ously digging  the  potatoes. 


RELICT  OF  THE  LATE  McGUIRE  57 

Bugsey,  for  he  was  the  early  little  bird,  ran 
back  into  the  house  screaming: 

"She's  robbed  us!  She's  robbed  us!  and 
tuk  our  fence." 

The  Watson  family  gathered  as  quickly  as 
a  fire  brigade  at  the  sound  of  the  gong,  but  in 
the  scramble  for  garments  some  were  less 
fortunate  than  others.  Wee  Tommy,  who 
was  a  little  heavier  sleeper  than  the  others, 
could  find  nothing  to  put  on  but  one  over- 
shoe and  an  old  chest  protector  of  his  mother's, 
but  he  arrived  at  the  front,  nevertheless. 
Tommy  was  not  the  boy  to  desert  his  family 
for  any  minor  consideration  such  as  clothes. 

Mrs.  McGuire  leaned  on  her  hoe  and  non- 
chalantly regarded  the  gathering  forces.  She 
had  often  thought  out  the  scene,  and  her  air 
of  indifference  was  somewhat  overdone. 

The  fence  was  on  her  ground,  so  it  was,  and 
so  were  two  rows  of  the  potatoes.  She  could 
do  what  she  liked  with  her  own,  so  she  could. 
She  did  n't  ask  them  to  plant  potatoes  on  her 
ground.  If  they  wanted  to  stand  there 
gawkin'  at  her,  they  wur  welcome.  She  al- 
ways did  like  comp'ny;  but  she  was  afraid 
the  childer  would  catch  cowld,  they  were 


58        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

dressed  so  loight  for  so  late  in  the  season. 
She  picked  up  the  last  pailful  as  she  spoke,  and 
retired  into  her  own  house,  leaving  the  Watson 
family  to  do  the  same. 

Mrs.  Watson  counselled  peace.  John  ate 
his  breakfast  in  silence;  but  the  young  Wat- 
sons, and  even  Pearlie,  thirsted  for  revenge. 
Bugsey  Watson  forgot  his  Band  of  Hope  teach- 
ing of  returning  good  for  evil,  and  standing  on 
the  disputed  territory,  he  planted  his  little 
bare  legs  far  apart  and  shouted,  dancing  up 
and  down  to  the  rhythm: 

Chew  tobacco,  chew  tobacco, 

Spit,  spit,  spit! 
Old  McGuire,  old  McGuire, 

Nit,  nit,  nit! 

Mrs.  McGuire  did  occasionally  draw  com- 
fort from  an  old  clay  pipe— but  Bugsey's 
punishment  was  near. 

A  long  shadow  fell  upon  him,  and  turning 
around  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with 
Mary  Earner  who  stood  spellbound,  listening 
to  her  lately  installed  Band  of  Hoper! 

Bugsey's  downfall  was  complete!  He 
turned  and  ran  down  the  road  and  round  be- 
hind an  elevator,  where  half  an  hour  later 


RELICT  OF  THE  LATE  McGUIRE   59 

Pearl  found  him  shedding  penitential  tears, 
not  alas!  because  he  had  sinned,  but  because 
he  had  been  found  out. 

The  maternal  instinct  was  strong  in  Pearlie. 
Bugsey  in  tears  was  in  need  of  consolation; 
Bugsey  was  always  in  need  of  admonition. 
So  she  combined  them: 

"  Don't  cry,  alannah.  Maybe  Miss  Earner 
did  n't  hear  yez  at  all  at  all.  Ladies  like  her 
do  be  thinkin'  great  thoughts  and  never 
knowin'  what 's  forninst  them.  Mrs.  Francis 
never  knows  what  ye  'r  sayin'  to  her  at  the 
toime;  ye  could  say  'chew  tobacco,  chew 
tobacco'  all  ye  liked  before  her;  but  what  for 
did  ye  sass  owld  lady  McGuire?  Have  n't 
I  towld  ye  time  out  of  mind  that  a  soft 
answer  turns  away  wrath,  and  forbye  makes 
them  madder  than  anything  ye  could  say  to 
them?" 

Bugsey  tearfully  declared  he  would  never 
go  to  Band  of  Hope  again.  Taffy  or  no 
taffy,  he  could  not  bear  to  face  her. 

"Go  tell  her,  Bugsey  man,"  Pearlie  urged. 
"Tell  her  ye  'r  sorry.  I  w'uld  n't  mind  tellin' 
Miss  Barner  anything.  Even  if  I  'd  kilt  a 
man  and  hid  his  corp,  she  's  the  very  one  I  'd 


60        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

git  to  help  me  to  give  me  a  h'ist  with  him  into 
the  river,  she  's  that  good  and  swate." 

The  subject  of  this  doubtful  compliment 
had  come  down  so  early  that  morning  be- 
lieving that  Mrs.  McGuire  was  confined  to  her 
bed  with  rheumatism.  Seeing  the  object  of 
her  solicitude  up  and  about,  she  would  have 
returned  without  knowing  what  had  hap- 
pened ;  but  Bugsey's  remarkable  musical  turn 
decided  her  that  Mrs.  McGuire  was  suffering 
from  worse  than  a  rheumatic  knee.  She  went 
into  the  little  house,  and  heard  all  about  it. 

When  she  went  home  a  little  later  she  found 
Robert  Roblin  Watson,  with  resolute  heart 
but  hanging  head,  \vaiting  for  her  on  the  back 
step.  What  passed  between  them  neither  of 
them  ever  told,  but  in  a  very  few  minutes 
Robert  Roblin  ran  gaily  homeward,  happy  in 
heart,  shriven  of  his  sin,  and  with  one  little 
spot  on  his  cheek  which  tingled  with  rapture. 
Better  still,  he  went,  like  a  man,  and  made 
his  peace  with  Mrs.  McGuire! 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   MUSICAL   SENSE 

MRS.  FRANCIS,  in  the  sweetest  of  tea 
gowns,  was  intent  upon  Dr.  Ernestus 
Parker's  book  on  "Purposeful  Motherhood." 
It  was  the  chapter  dealing  with  the  "Musical 
Sense  in  Children"  which  engrossed  Mrs. 
Francis's  attention.  She  had  just  begun  sub- 
division C  in  the  chapter,"  When  and  How  the 
Musical  Sense  Is  Developed, ' '  when  she  thought 
of  Danny.  She  fished  into  the  waste-paper 
basket  for  her  little  red  note-book,  and  with 
her  silver  mounted  pencil  she  made  the  fol- 
lowing entry : 

DANIEL  WATSON, 

AGED  4. 
Mus.   SENSE.    DEVELOPED.    IF   so,  WHEN.    IF  NOT, 

HOW,    AND    AT    ONCE. 

She  read  on  feverishly.  She  felt  herself 
to  be  in  the  throes  of  a  great  idea. 

Then  she  called  Camilla.  Camilla  is  always 
so  practical,  she  thought 

61 


62        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

To  Camilla  she  elaborated  the  vital  points 
of  Dr.  Parker's  theory  of  the  awakening  of 
the  musical  sense,  reading  here  and  there 
from  the  book,  rapidly  and  unintelligibly. 
She  was  so  excited  she  was  incoherent. 
Camilla  listened  patiently,  although  her 
thoughts  were  with  her  biscuits  in  the  oven 
below. 

"And  now,  Camilla,"  she  said  when  she 
had  gone  all  over  the  subject,  "how  can  we 
awaken  the  musical  sense  in  Daniel?  You 
know  I  value  your  opinion  so  much." 

Camilla  was  ready. 

"Take  him  to  hear  Professor  Welsman 
play,"  she  said.  "The  professor  will  give 
his  recital  here  on  the  isth." 

Mrs.  Francis  wrote  rapidly.  "I  believe," 
she  said  looking  up,  "your  suggestion  is  a 
good  one.  You  shall  have  the  credit  of  it  in 
my  notes." 

Plan  of  awakening  mus.  sense  suggested  by  C . 

Camilla  smiled.  "Thank  you,  Mrs. 
Francis .  You  are  very  kind . ' ' 

When  Camilla  went  back  to  the  kitchen 
and  took  the  biscuits  from  the  oven,  she 
laughed  softly  to  herself. 


THE  MUSICAL  SENSE  63 

"This  is  going  to  be  a  good  time  for  some 
further  suggestions.  Pearl  must  go  with 
Danny.  What  a  treat  it  will  be  for  poor  little 
Pearl!  Then  we  must  have  a  new  suit  for 
Danny,  new  dress  for  Pearl,  new  cap  for  D., 
new  hat  for  P.,  all  suggested  by  C.  There  are 
a  few  suggestions  which  C.  will  certainly 
make." 

On  the  evening  of  the  professor's  recital 
there  were  no  two  happier  people  in  the  audi- 
ience  than  Pearlie  Watson  and  her  brother 
Daniel  Mulcahey  Watson;  not  because  the 
great  professor  was  about  to  interpret  for 
them  the  music  of  the  masters  —  that  was 
not  the  cause  of  their  happiness  — but  because 
of  the  good  supper  they  had  had  and  the  good 
clothes  they  wore,  their  hearts  were  glad. 
They  had  spent  the  afternoon  at  Mrs.  Francis's 
(suggested  by  C.).  Danny's  new  coat  had  a 
velvet  collar  lovely  to  feel  (suggested  by  C.). 
Pearl  had  a  wonderful  new  dress  —  the  kind 
she  had  often  dreamed  of  —  made  out  of  one 
of  Mrs.  Francis's  tea  gowns.  (Not  only  sug- 
gested but  made  by  C.)  It  had  real  buttons 
on  it,  and  there  was  not  one  pin  needed. 
Pearl  felt  she  was  just  as  well  dressed  as  the 


64        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

little  girl  on  the  starch  box.  Her  only  grief 
was  that  when  she  had  on  her  coat  —  which 
was  also  new,  and  represented  one-half  month 
of  Camilla's  wages  —  the  velvet  on  her  dress 
did  not  show.  But  Camilla,  anticipating  this 
difficulty,  laid  back  the  fronts  in  stunning 
lapels,  and  to  complete  the  arrangement,  put 
one  of  her  own  lace  collars  around  the  neck  of 
the  coat,  the  ends  coming  down  over  the 
turned-back  fronts.  When  Pearl  looked  in 
the  glass  she  could  not  believe  her  eyes ! 

Mr.  Francis  did  not  attend  piano  recitals, 
nor  the  meetings  of  the  Browning  Club.  Mrs. 
Francis  was  often  deeply  grieved  with  James 
for  his  indifference  in  regard  to  these  matters. 
But  the  musical  sense  in  James  continued  to 
slumber  and  sleep. 

The  piano  recital  by  Professor  Welsman  was 
given  under  the  auspices  of  the  Ladies'  Aid  of 
the  Methodist  Church,  the  proceeds  to  be 
given  toward  defraying  the  cost  of  the  repairs 
on  the  parsonage. 

The  professor  was  to  be  assisted  by  local 
talent,  it  said  on  the  programmes.  Pearl  was 
a  little  bit  disappointed  about  the  programmes. 
She  had  told  Danny  that  there  would  be  a 


THE  MUSICAL  SENSE  65 

chairman  who  would  say:  "I  see  the  first 
item  on  this  here  programme  is  remarks  by 
the  chair,  but  as  yez  all  know  I  ain't  no  hand 
at  makin'  a  speech  we  11  pass  on  to  the  next 
item."  But  there  was  not  a  sign  of  a  chair- 
man, not  even  a  chair.  The  people  just 
came  up  themselves,  without  anybody  telling 
them,  and  did  their  piece  and  went  back. 
It  looked  sort  of  bold  to  Pearl. 

First  the  choir  came  in  and  sang:  "Praise 
Waiteth  for  Thee,  O  Lord,  in  Zion."  Pearl 
did  not  like  the  way  they  treated  her  friend 
Dr.  Clay.  Twice  when  he  began  to  sing  a 
little  piece  by  himself,  doing  all  right,  too,  two 
or  three  of  them  broke  in  on  him  and  took 
the  words  right  out  of  his  mouth.  Pearl  had 
seen  people  get  slapped  faces  for  things  like 
that.  Pearl  thought  it  just  served  them 
right  when  the  doctor  stopped  singing  and  let 
them  have  it  their  own  way. 

When  the  professor  came  up  the  aisle  every- 
body leaned  forward  to  have  a  good  look  at 
him.  "He  is  just  like  folks  only  for  his  hair," 
Pearl  thought.  Pearl  lifted  Danny  on  her 
knee  and  told  him  to  look  alive  now.  She 
knew  what  they  were  there  for. 


66        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

Then  the  professor  began  to  play.  In- 
differently at  first  after  the  manner  of  his  kind, 
clever  gymnastics  to  limber  up  his  fingers  per- 
haps, and  perhaps  to  show  how  limber  they 
are;  runs  and  trills,  brilliant  execution,  one 
hand  after  the  other  in  mad  pursuit,  crossing 
over,  back  again,  up  and  down  in  the  vain 
endeavour  to  come  up  with  the  other  hand; 
crescendo,  diminuendo,  trills  again! 

Danny  yawned  widely. 

"When's  he  goin'  to  begin?"  he  asked, 
sleepily. 

Mrs.  Francis  watched  Danny  eagerly.  The 
musical  sense  was  liable  to  wake  up  any 
minute.  But  it  would  have  to  hurry,  for 
Daniel  Mulcahey  was  liable  to  go  to  sleep  any 
minute. 

Pearl  was  disgusted  with  the  professor 
and  her  thoughts  fell  into  vulgar  baseball 
slang: 

"Playin'  to  the  grand  stand,  ain't  ye?  in- 
stead o'  gettin'  down  to  work.  That  '11 
do  for  ketch  and  toss.  Play  the  game!  De- 
liver the  goods!" 

Then  the  professor  began  the  full  arm  chords 
with  sudden  fury,  writhing  upon  the  stool  as 


THE  MUSICAL  SENSE  67 

he  struck  the  angry  notes  from  the  piano. 
Pearl's  indignation  ran  high. 

"  He 's  lost  his  head  —  he  's  up  in  the  air ! " 
she  shouted,  but  the  words  were  lost  in  the 
clang  of  musical  discords. 

But  wait!  Pearl  sat  still  and  listened. 
There  was  something  doing.  It  was  a  Welsh 
rhapsodic  that  he  was  playing.  It  was  all 
there  —  the  mountains  and  the  rivers,  and 
the  towering  cliffs  with  glimpses  of  the  sea 
where  waves  foam  on  the  rocks,  and  sea-fowl 
wheel  and  scream  in  the  wind,  and  then  a  bit 
of  homely  melody  as  the  country  folk  drive 
home  in  the  moonlight,  singing  as  only  the 
Welsh  can  sing,  the  songs  of  the  heart ;  songs 
of  love  and  home,  songs  of  death  and  sorrow- 
ing, that  stab  with  sudden  sweetness.  A 
child  cries  somewhere  in  the  dark,  cries  for 
his  mother  who  will  come  no  more.  Then  a 
burst  of  patriotic  fire,  as  the  people  fling 
defiance  at  the  conquering  foe,  and  hold  the 
mountain  passes  till  the  last  man  falls.  But 
the  glory  of  the  fight  and  the  march  of  many 
feet  trail  off  into  a  wailing  chant  —  the 
death  song  of  the  brave  men  who  have  died. 
The  widow  mourns,  and  the  little  children  weep 


68        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

comfortless  in  their  mountain  home,  and  the 
wind  rushes  through  the  forest,  and  the  river 
foams  furiously  down  the  mountain,  falling  in 
billows  of  lace  over  the  rocks,  and  the  sun 
shines  over  all,  cold  and  pitiless. 

"Why,  Pearlie  Watson,  what  are  you  cry- 
ing for?"  Mrs.  Francis  whispered  severely. 
Pearl's  sobs  had  disturbed  her.  Danny  lay 
asleep  on  Pearl's  knees,  and  her  tears  fell  fast 
on  his  tangled  curls. 

"I  ain't  cryin',  I  ain't  cryin'  a  bit.  You 
leave  me  alone,"  Pearl  blubbered  rudely, 
shaking  off  Mrs  Francis's  shapely  hand. 

Mrs.  Francis  was  shocked.  What  in  the 
world  was  making  Pearl  cry? 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  Francis  took  out 
her  little  red  book  to  enter  the  result  of  her 
experiment ,  and  sat  looking  long  and  earn- 
estly at  its  pages.  Then  she  drew  a  writing 
pad  toward  her  and  wrote  an  illuminative 
article  on  "Late  Hours  a  Frequent  and 
Fruitful  Cause  of  Irritability  in  Children." 


CHAPTER  VII 
"ONE  OF  MANITOBA'S  PROSPEROUS  FARMERS" 

MR.  SAMUEL  MOTHERWELL  was  a 
wealthy  farmer  who  lived  a  few  miles 
from  Millford.  Photographs  of  Mr.  Mother- 
well's  premises  may  be  seen  in  the  agricultural 
journals,  machinery  catalogues,  advertisements 
for  woven  wire,  etc.  —  "the  home  of  one  of 
Manitoba's  prosperous  farmers." 

The  farm  buildings  were  in  good  repair ;  a 
large  red  barn  with  white  trimmings  sur- 
mounted by  a  creaking  windmill ;  a  long,  low 
machine  shed  filled  with  binders,  seeders, 
disc-harrows  —  everything  that  is  needed  for 
the  seed-time  and  harvest  and  all  that  lies 
between;  a  large  stone  house,  square  and 
gray,  lonely  and  bare,  without  a  tree  or  a 
shrub  around  it.  Mr.  Motherwell  did 
not  like  vines  or  trees  around  a  house. 
They  were  apt  to  attract  lightning  and  bring 

vermin. 

69 


7o        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

Potatoes  grew  from  the  road  to  the  house; 
and  around  the  front  door,  as  high  as  the 
veranda,  weeds  flourished  in  abundance,  un- 
disturbed and  unnoticed. 

Behind  the  cookhouse  a  bed  of  poppies 
flamed  scarlet  against  the  general  sombreness, 
and  gave  a  strange  touch  of  colour  to  the  com- 
mon grayness.  They  seemed  out  of  place  in 
the  busy  farmyard.  Everything  else  was 
there  for  use.  Everybody  hurried  but  the 
poppies ;  idlers  of  precious  time,  suggestive  of 
slothful  sleep,  they  held  up  their  brazen  faces 
in  careless  indifference. 

Sam  had  not  planted  them — you  may  be 
sure  of  that.  Mrs.  Motherwell  would  tell  you 
of  an  English  girl  she  had  had  to  work  for  her 
that  summer  who  had  brought  the  seed  with 
her  from  England,  and  of  how  one  day  when 
she  sent  the  girl  to  weed  the  onions,  she  had 
found  her  blubbering  and  crying  over  what 
looked  to  Mrs.  Motherwell  nothing  more  than 
weeds.  The  girl  then  told  her  she  had  brought 
the  seed  with  her  and  planted  it  there.  She 
was  the  craziest  thing,  this  Polly  Bragg. 
She  went  every  night  to  see  them  because 
they  were  like  a  "bit  of  home,"  she  said. 


ONE  OF  MANITOBA'S  FARMERS    71 

Mrs.  Motherwell  would  tell  you  just  what  a 
ridiculous  creature  she  was ! 

"I  never  see  the  beat  o'  that  girl,"  Mrs. 
Motherwell  would  say.  "Them  eyes  of  hers 
were  always  red  with  homesickness,  and  there 
was  no  reason  for  it  in  the  world,  her  gettin' 
more  wages  than  she  ever  got  before,  and 
more  'n  she  was  earnin',  as  I  often  told  her. 
Land !  the  way  that  girl  would  sing  when  she 
had  got  a  letter  from  home,  the  queerest 
songs  ye  ever  heard: 

Down  by  the  biller  there  grew  a  green  wilier, 
Weeping  all  night  with  the  bank  for  a  piller. 

Well,  I  had  to  stop  her  at  last,"  Mrs.  Mother- 
well  would  tell  you  with  an  apologetic  swallow, 
which  showed  that  even  generous  people  have 
to  be  firm  sometimes  in  the  discharge  of  un- 
pleasant duties. 

"And,  mind  you,  Mrs.  Motherwell  would 
go  on,  with  a  grieved  air,  "just  as  the  busy 
time  came  on  did  n't  she  up  and  take  the 
fever  —  you  never  can  depend  on  them  Eng- 
lish girls  —  and  when  the  doctor  was  outside 
there  in  the  buggy  waitin'  for  her — he  took 
her  to  the  hospital  —  I  declare  if  we  did  n't 


72        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

find  her  blubberin'  over  them  poppies,  and 
not  a  flower  on  them  no  mor'n  nothing." 

Sam  Motherwell  and  his  wife  were  nomi- 
nally Presbyterians.  At  the  time  that  the 
Millford  Presbyterian  Church  was  built  Sam 
had  given  twenty-five  dollars  toward  it,  the 
money  having  been  secured  in  some  strange 
way  by  the  wiles  of  Purvis  Thomas,  the  col- 
lector. Everybody  was  surprised  at  Sam's 
prodigality.  The  next  year,  a  new  collector 
—for  Purvis  Thomas  had  gone  away  —  called 
on  Mr.  Motherwell. 

The  grain  was  just  beginning  to  show  a 
slight  tinge  of  gold.  It  was  one  of  those 
cloudless  sunshiny  days  in  the  beginning  of 
August,  when  a  faint  blue  haze  lies  on  the 
Tiger  Hills,  and  the  joy  of  being  alive  swells 
in  the  breast  of  every  living  thing.  The  creek, 
swollen  with  the  July  rain,  ran  full  in  its 
narrow  channel,  sparkling  and  swirling  over 
its  gravelly  bed,  and  on  the  green  meadow 
below  the  house  a  herd  of  shorthorns  con- 
tentedly cropped  the  tender  after-grass. 

In  the  farmyard  a  gigantic  turkey-gobbler 
marched  majestically  with  arched  neck  and 
spreading  wings,  feeling  himself  very  much 


ONE  OF  MANITOBA'S  FARMERS    73 

the  king  of  the  castle;  good-natured  ducks 
puddled  contentedly  in  a  trough  of  dirty 
water ;  pigeons,  white  winged  and  graceful, 
circled  and  wheeled  in  the  sunshine ;  querulous- 
voiced  hens  strutted  and  scratched,  and  gos- 
siped openly  of  mysterious  nests  hidden  away. 

Sam  stood  leaning  on  a  pitchfork  in  front 
of  the  barn  door.  He  was  a  stout  man  of 
about  fifty  years  of  age,  with  an  ox-like  face. 
His  countenance  showed  the  sullen  stolidity 
of  a  man  who  spoke  little  but  listened  always, 
of  a  man  who  indulged  in  suspicious  thoughts. 
He  knew  everything  about  his  neighbours, 
good  and  bad.  He  might  forget  the  good, 
but  never  the  evil.  The  tragedies,  the  sins, 
the  misdeeds  of  thirty  years  ago  were  as 
fresh  in  his  memory  as  the  scandal  of  yester- 
day. No  man  had  ever  been  tempted  be- 
yond his  strength  but  Sam  Motherwell  knew 
the  manner  of  his  undoing.  He  extended  no 
mercy  to  the  fallen;  he  suggested  no  excuse 
for  the  erring. 

The  collector  made  known  his  errand. 
Sam  became  animated  at  once. 

"What?"  he  cried  angrily,  "ain't  that 
blamed  thing  paying  yet?  I  've  a  good  notion 


74        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

to  pull  my  money  out  of  it  and  be  done  with 
it.  What  do  you  take  me  for  anyway?" 

The  collector  ventured  to  call  his  attention 
to  his  prosperous  surroundings,  and  evident 
wealth. 

"That's  like  you  town  fellows,"  he  said  in- 
dignantly. "You  never  think  of  the  hired 
help  and  twine  bills,  and  what  it  costs  to  run 
a  place  like  this.  I  pay  every  time  I  go,  any- 
way. There  ain't  a  time  that  I  let  the  plate 
go  by  me,  when  I  'm  there.  By  gosh !  you  seem 
to  think  I  've  money  to  bum." 

The  collector  departed  empty-handed. 

The  next  time  Sam  went  to  Millford  he  was 
considerably  surprised  to  have  the  young 
minister,  the  Reverend  Hugh  Grantley,  stop 
him  on  the  street  and  hand  him  twenty-five 
dollars. 

"  I  understand,  sir,  that  you  wish  to  with- 
draw the  money  that  you  invested  in  the 
Lord's  work,"  he  said  as  he  handed  the  money 
to  Sam,  whose  fingers  mechanically  closed  over 
the  bills  as  he  stared  at  the  young  man. 

The  Rev.  Hugh  Grantley  was  a "  typical 
Scotchman,  tall  and  broad  shouldered,  with 
an  eye  like  cold  steel.  Not  many  people  had 


ONE  OF  MANITOBA'S  FARMERS   75 

contradicted  the  Rev.  Hugh  Grantley,  at 
least  to  his  face.  His  voice  could  be  as  sweet 
as  the  ripple  of  a  mountain  stream,  or  vibrate 
with  the  thunder  of  the  surf  that  beats  upon 
his  own  granite  cliffs. 

"The  Lord  sends  you  seed-time  and  har- 
vest," he  said,  fixing  his  level  gray  eye  on  the 
other  man,  who  somehow  avoided  his  gaze, 
"has  given  you  health  of  body  and  mind, 
sends  you  rain  from  heaven,  makes  his  sun  to 
shine  upon  you,  increases  your  riches  from 
year  to  year.  You  have  given  Him  twenty- 
five  dollars  in  return  and  you  regret  it.  Is 
that  so?" 

"I  don't  know  that  I  just  said  that,"  the 
other  man  stammered.  "  I  don't  see  no  need 
of  these  fine  churches  and  paid  preachers.  It 
is  n't  them  as  goes  to  church  most  that  is  the 
best." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  the  young  man  said,  "you 
would  prefer  to  give  your  money  for  the  relief 
of  the  poor,  for  hospitals  or  children's  homes, 
or  something  like  that.  Is  that  so?" 

"  I  don't  know  as  there 's  any  reason  forme 
givin'  up  the  money  I  work  hard  for."  Sam 
was  touched  on  a  vital  spot. 


76        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

"  Well,  I  '11  tell  you  the  reason,"  the  minister 
said;  his  voice  was  no  louder,  but  it  fell  with 
a  sledge-hammer  emphasis.  He  moved  a 
step  nearer  his  companion,  and  some  way 
caught  and  held  his  wavering  vision.  "God 
owns  one-tenth  of  all  that  stuff  you  call  your 
own.  You  have  cheated  Him  out  of  His  part 
all  these  years,  and  He  has  carried  you  over 
from  year  to  year,  hoping  that  you  will  pay 
up  without  harsh  proceedings.  You  are  a 
rich  man  in  this  world's  goods,  but  your  soul 
is  lean  and  hungry  and  naked.  Selfishness 
and  greed  have  blinded  your  eyes.  If  you 
could  see  what  a  contemptible,  good-for- 
nothing  creature  you  are  in  God's  sight,  you 
would  call  on  the  hills  to  fall  on  you.  Why, 
man,  I  'd  rather  take  my  chances  with  the 
gambler,  the  felon,  the  drunkard,  than  with 
you.  They  may  have  fallen  in  a  moment  of 
strong  temptation;  but  you  are  a  respectable 
man  merely  because  it  costs  money  to  be 
otherwise.  The  Lord  can  do  without  your 
money.  Do  not  think  for  a  minute  that 
God's  work  will  not  go  on.  'He  shall  have 
dominion  from  sea  to  sea,'  but  what  of  you? 
You  shall  lie  down  and  die  like  the  dog.  You 


ONE  OF  MANITOBA'S  FARMERS   77 

shall  go  out  into  outer  darkness.  The  world 
will  not  be  one  bit  better  because  you  have 
passed  through  it." 

Sam  was  incoherent  with  rage.  "See 
here,"  he  sputtered,  "what  do  you  know 
about  it?  I  pay  my  debts.  Everybody 
knows  that." 

"Hold  on,  hold  on,"  the  young  man  said 
gently,  "  you  pay  the  debts  that  the  law  com- 
pels you  to  pay.  You  have  to  pay  your  hired 
help  and  your  threshing  bills,  and  all  that, 
because  you  would  be  'sued'  if  you  did  n't. 
There  is  one  debt  that  is  left  to  a  man's 
honour,  the  debt  he  owes  to  God,  and  to  the 
poor  and  the  needy.  Do  you  pay  that  debt?" 

"Well,  you'll  never  get  a  cent  out  of  me 
anyway.  You  have  a  mighty  poor  way  of 
asking  for  money  —  maybe  if  you  had  taken 
me  the  right  way  you  might  have  got  some." 

"Excuse  me,  Mr.  Motherwell,"  the  young 
man  replied  with  unaffected  good  humour, 
"  I  did  not  ask  you  for  money  at  all.  I  gave 
you  back  what  you  did  give.  No  member  of 
our  congregation  will  ask  you  for  any,  though 
there  may  come  a  time  when  you  will  ask  us 
to  take  it." 


78        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

Sam  Motherwell  broke  into  a  scornful 
laugh,  and,  turning  away,  went  angrily 
down  the  street.  The  fact  that  the  minister 
had  given  him  back  his  money  was  a  severe 
shock  to  some  of  his  deep-rooted  opinions. 
He  had  always  regarded  churches  as  greedy 
institutions,  looking  and  begging  for  money 
from  everyone;  ministers  as  parasites  on 
society,  living  without  honest  labour,  preying 
on  the  working  man.  Sam's  favourite  story 
was  the  old  one  about  the  woman  whose 
child  got  a  coin  stuck  in  its  throat.  She 
did  not  send  for  the  doctor,  but  for  the  minis- 
ter !  Sam  had  always  seen  considerable  truth 
in  this  story  and  had  told  it  to  every  minister 
he  had  met. 

He  told  himself  now  that  he  was  glad  to 
get  back  the  money,  twenty-five  dollars  was 
not  picked  up  every  day.  But  he  was  not  glad. 
The  very  touch  of  the  bills  was  distasteful  to 
him! 

He  did  not  tell  his  wife  of  the  occurrence. 
Nor  did  he  put  the  money  in  the  black  bag, 
where  their  money  was  always  kept  in  the 
bureau  drawer,  safe  under  lock  and  key.  He 
could  not  do  that  without  telling  his  wife 


ONE  OF  MANITOBA'S  FARMERS    79 

where  it  came  from.  So  he  shoved  it  care- 
lessly into  the  pocket  of  the  light  overcoat 
that  he  was  wearing.  Sam  Motherwell  was 
not  a  careless  man  about  money,  but  the 
possession  of  this  particular  twenty-five  dol- 
lars gave  him  no  pleasure. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   OTHER   DOCTOR 

THE  young  minister  went  down  the  street 
with  a  thoughtful  face. 

"I  wonder  if  I  did  right,"  he  was  thinking. 
"It  is  a  hard  thing  to  talk  that  way  to  a 
human  being,  and  yet  it  seems  to  be  the  only 
thing  to  do.  Oh,  what  it  would  mean  for 
God's  work  if  all  these  rich  farmers  were 
saved  from  their  insatiable  greed. " 

He  turned  into  Dr.  Clay's  office. 

"Oh,  Clay!"  he  burst  out  when  he  had 
answered  the  young  man's  friendly  greeting, 
"  it  is  an  awful  thing  to  lay  open  a  mean  man's 
meanness,  and  tell  him  the  plain  truth  about 
himself." 

"It  is,  indeed,"  the  young  doctor  answered, 
"but  perhaps  it  is  heroic  treatment  your  man 
needed,  for  I  would  infer  that  you  have  been 
reading  the  law  to  someone.  Who  was  it?" 

"Sam  Motherwell,"  the  minister  answered, 
so 


THE  OTHER  DOCTOR  81 

"Well,  you  had  a  good  subject,"  the  doctor 
said  gravely.  "For  aggravated  greed,  and 
fatty  degeneration  of  the  conscience,  Mr. 
Motherwell  is  certainly  a  wonder.  When 
that  poor  English  girl  took  the  fever  out  here, 
it  was  hard  to  convince  Sam  that  she  was 
really  sick.  'Look  at  them  red  cheeks  of 
hers,'  he  said  to  me,  'and  her  ears  ain't  cold, 
and  her  eyes  is  bright  as  ever.  She  's  just 
lookin'  for  a  rest,  I  think,  if  you  wuz  to  ask 
me."' 

"How  did  you  convince  him?" 

"  I  told  him  the  girl  would  have  to  have  a 
trained  nurse,  and  would  be  sick  probably  six 
weeks,  and  then  they  could  n't  get  the  poor 
girl  off  their  hands  quick  enough.  'I  don't 
want  that  girl  dyin'  round  here,'  Sam  said." 

"Is  Mrs.  Motherwell  as  close  as  he  is?"  the 
minister  asked  after  a  pause. 

"Some  say  worse,"  the  doctor  replied,  "but 
I  don't  believe  it.  She  can't  be." 

The  minister's  face  was  troubled.  "  I  wish 
I  knew  what  to  do  for  them,"  he  said  sadly. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  something  you  can  do  for 
me,"  the  doctor  said  sitting  up  straight,  "or 
at  least  something  you  may  try  to  do." 


82        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

"What  is  it?"  the  minister  asked. 

"  Devise  some  method,  suggest  some  course 
of  treatment,  whereby  my  tried  and  trusty 
horse  Pleurisy  will  cease  to  look  so  much  like 
a  saw-horse.  I  'm  afraid  the  Humane  So- 
ciety will  get  after  me." 

The  minister  laughed. 

Everybody  knew  Dr.  Clay's  horse;  there 
was  no  danger  of  mistaking  him  for  any  other. 
He  was  tall  and  lean  and  gaunt.  The  doctor 
had  bought  him  believing  him  to  be  in  poor 
condition,  which  good  food  and  good  care 
would  remedy.  But  as  the  months  went  by, 
in  spite  of  all  the  doctor  could  do,  Pleurisy 
remained  the  same,  eating  everything  the 
doctor  brought  him,  and  looking  for  more, 
but  showing  no  improvement. 

"I've  tried  everything  except  egg-nog," 
the  doctor  went  on,  "and  pink  pills,  and  I 
would  like  to  turn  over  the  responsibility  to 
someone  else.  I  think  perhaps  his  trouble 
must  be  mental  —  some  gnawing  sorrow  that 
keeps  him  awake  at  night.  I  don't  mind 
driving  Pleurisy  where  people  know  me  and 
know  that  I  do  feed  him  occasionally,  but  it  is 
disconcerting  when  I  meet  strangers  to  have 


THE  OTHER  DOCTOR  83 

kind-looking  old  ladies  shake  their  heads  at 
me.  I  know  what  they  're  thinking,  and  I 
believe  Pleurisy  really  enjoys  it,  and  then 
when  I  drive  past  a  farmhouse  to  see  the  whole 
family  run  out  and  hold  their  sides  is  not  a 
pleasure.  Talk  about  scattering  sunshine! 
Pleurisy  leaves  a  trail  of  merriment  wherever 
he  goes." 

"  What  difference  does  it  make  what  people 
think  when  your  conscience  is  clear.  You  do 
feed  your  horse,  you  feed  him  well,  so  what  's 
the  odds,"  inquired  the  Rev.  Hugh  Grantley, 
son  of  granite,  child  of  the  heather,  looking 
with  lifted  brows  at  his  friend. 

"  Oh,  there  you  go !"  the  doctor  said  smiling. 
"That's  the  shorter  catechism  coming  out  in 
you  —  that  Scotch  complacency  is  the  thing 
I  wish  I  had,  but  I  can't  help  feeling  like  a 
rogue,  a  cheat,  an  oppressor  of  the  helpless, 
when  I  look  at  Pleurisy." 

"Horace,"  the  minister  said  kindly,  with 
his  level  gray  eyes  fixed  thoughtfully  on  his 
friend's  handsome  face,  "a  man  in  either  your 
calling  or  mine  has  no  right  to  ask  himself  how 
he  feels.  Don't  feel  your  own  pulse  too 
much.  It  is  disquieting.  It  is  for  us  to  go 


84        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

on,  never  faltering  and  never  looking  be- 
hind." 

"  In  other  words,  to  make  good,  and  never 
mind  the  fans,"  the  doctor  smiled.  Then  he 
became  serious.  "But  Grantley,  I  am  not 
always  so  sure  I  am  right  as  you  are.  You 
see  a  sinner  is  always  a  sinner  and  in  danger  of 
damnation,  for  which  there  is  but  one  cure, 
but  a  sick  man  may  have  quinsy  or  he  may 
have  diphtheria,  and  the  treatment  is  different. 
But  oh!  Grantley,  I  wish  I  had  that  Scotch- 
gray  confidence  in  myself  that  you  have.  If 
you  were  a  doctor  you  would  tell  a  man  he 
had  typhoid,  and  he  'd  proceed  to  have  it, 
even  if  he  had  only  set  out  to  have  an  in- 
growing toe-nail.  But  my  patients  have  a 
decided  will  of  their  own.  There  's  young 
Ab  Cowan  —  they  sent  for  me  last  night  to 
go  out  to  see  him.  He  has  a  bad  attack  of 
quinsy,  but  it  is  the  strangest  case  I  ever  saw." 

The  gaiety  had  died  out  of  the  young  man's 
face,  and  he  looked  perplexed  and  anxious. 

"I  do  wish  the  old  doctor  and  I  were  on 
speaking  terms,"  he  concluded. 

"And  are  you  not?"  the  minister  asked  in 
surprise.  "  Miss  Earner  told  me  that  you  had 


THE  OTHER  DOCTOR  85 

been  very  kind  —  and  I  thought "  There 

was  a  flush  on  the  minister's  face,  and  he 
hesitated. 

"Oh,  Miss  Earner  and  I  are  the  best  of 
friends,"  the  doctor  said.  "I  say,  Grantley, 
has  n't  that  little  girl  had  one  lonely  life,  and 
is  n't  she  the  brave  little  soul!" 

The  minister  was  silent,  all  but  his  eyes. 

The  doctor  went  on: 

"'Who  hath  sorrow,  who  hath  woe,  who 
hath  redness  of  eyes?'  Solomon,  was  n't  it, 
who  said  it  was  'they  who  tarry  long  at  the 
wine'  ?  I  think  he  should  have  added  'those 
who  wait  at  home.'  Don't  you  think  she 
is  a  remarkably  beautiful  girl.  Grantley?"  he 
asked  abruptly. 

"I  do,  indeed,"  the  minister  answered, 
giving  his  friend  a  searching  glance.  "But 
how  about  the  doctor,  why  will  he  not  speak 
to  you?"  He  was  glad  of  a  chance  to  change 
the  subject. 

"I  suppose  the  old  man's  pride  is  hurt 
every  time  he  sees  me.  He  evidently  thinks 
he  is  all  the  medical  aid  they  need  around 
here.  But  I  do  wish  he  would  come  with  me 
to  see  this  young  Cowan;  it  's  the  most  puz- 


86        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

zling  case  I  've  ever  met.  There  are  times, 
Grantley,  when  I  think  I  should  be  following 
the  plough." 

The  minister  looked  at  him  thoughtfully. 

"A  man  can  only  do  his  best,  Horace,"  he 
said  kindly. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   LIVE   WIRE 

WHO  is  this  young  gentleman  or  lady?" 
Dr.  Clay  asked  of  Pearlie  Watson  one 
day  when  he  met  her  wheeling  a  baby  carriage 
with  an  abnormally  fat  baby  in  it. 

"This  is  the  Czar  of  all  the  Rooshia,"  Pearl 
answered  gravely,  "and  I  'm  his  body-guard." 

The  doctor's  face  showed  no  surprise  as  he 
stepped  back  to  get  a  better  look  at  the  czar, 
who  began  to  squirm  at  the  delay. 

"See  the  green  plush  on  his  kerridge," 
Pearl  said  proudly,  "and  every  stitch  he  has 
on  is  hand-made,  and  was  did  for  him,  too, 
and  he  's  fed  every  three  hours,  rain  or  shine, 
hit  or  miss." 

"Think  of  that!"  the  doctor  exclaimed  with 
emphasis,  "and  yet  some  people  tell  us  that 
the  Czar  has  a  hard  time  of  it." 

Pearl  drew  a  step  nearer,  moving  the  car- 
riage up  and  down  rapidly  to  appease  the 
87 


88        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

wrath  of  the  czar,  who  was  expressing  his 
disapproval  in  a  very  lumpy  cry. 

"I  'm  just  'tendin',  you  know,  about  him 
bein'  the  czar,"  she  said  confidentially.  "  You 
see,  I  mind  him  every  day,  and  that 's  the  way 
I  play.  Maudie  Ducker  said  one  day  I  never 
had  no  time  to  play  cos  we  wuz  so  pore,  and 
that  started  me.  It 's  a  lovely  game." 

The  doctor  nodded.  He  knew  something 
of  "'tendin'  games"  too. 

"  I  have  to  taste  everything  he  eats,  for  fear 
of  Paris  green,"  Pearl  went  on,  speaking  now 
in  the  loud  official  tone  of  the  body-guard.  "  I 
have  to  stand  between  him  and  the  howlin' 
mob  thirstin'  for  his  gore." 

"He  seems  to  howl  more  than  the  mob," 
the  doctor  said  smiling. 

"He's  afraid  we're  plottin',"  Pearl  whis- 
pered. "Can't  trust  no  one.  He  ain't 
howlin'.  That 's  his  natcheral  voice  when 
he  's  talkin'  Rooshan.  He  don't  know  one 
English  word,  only  '  Goo !'  But  he  '11  say  that 
every  time.  See  now.  How  is  a  precious 
luwy-duwy?  See  the  pitty  man,  pull  um 
baby  toofin!" 

At   which   the   czar,    secure   in  his  tooth- 


THE  LIVE  WIRE  S9 

lessness,  rippled  his  fat  face  into  dimples,  and 
triumphantly  brought  forth  a  whole  succession 
of  "goos." 

"Ain't  he  a  peach?"  Pearlie  said  with  pride. 
"  Some  kids  won't  show  off  worth  a  cent  when 
ye  want  them  to,  but  he  11  say  '  goo '  if  you 
even  nudge  him.  His  mother  thinks  'goo'  is 
awful  childish,  and  she  is  at  him  all  the  time 
to  say  '  Daddy-dinger,'  but  he  never  lets  on  he 
hears  her.  Say,  doctor"  —  Pearlie's  face  was 
troubled  —  "what  do  you  think  of  his  looks? 
Just  between  ourselves.  Hasn't  he  a  fine 
little  nub  of  a  nose?  Do  you  see  anything 
about  him  to  make  his  mother  cry?" 

The  doctor  looked  critically  at  the  czar,  who 
returned  his  gaze  with  stolid  indifference. 

"I  never  saw  a  more  perfect  nub  on  any 
nose, ' '  he  answered  honestly.  "  He 's  a  fine  big 
boy,  and  his  mother  should  be  proud  of  him." 

"There  now,  what  did  I  tell  you!"  Pearlie 
cried  delightedly,  nodding  her  head  at  an 
imaginary  audience. 

"That 's  what  I  always  say  to  his  mother, 
but  she 's  so  tuk  up  with  pictures  of  pretty 
kids  with  big  eyes  and  curly  hair,  she  don't 
seem  to  be  able  to  get  used  to  him.  She  never 


9o        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

says  his  nose  is  a  pug,  but  she  says  it 's  'dif- 
ferent,' and  his  voice  is  not  what  she  wanted. 
He  cries  lumpy,  I  know,  but  his  goos  are  all 
right.  The  kid  in  the  book  she  is  readin' 
could  say  '  Daddy-dinger '  before  he  was  as 
old  as  the  czar  is,  and  it 's  awful  hard  on  her. 
You  see,  he  can't  pat-a-cake,  or  this-little-pig- 
went-to-market,  or  wave  a  bye-bye  or  nothin'. 
I  never  told  her  what  Danny  could  do  when  he 
was  this  age.  But  I  am  workin'  hard  to  get 
him  to  say  'Daddy-dinger.'  She  has  her 
heart  set  on  that.  Well,  I  must  go  on  now." 

The  doctor  lifted  his  hat,  and  the  imperial 
carriage  moved  on. 

She  had  gone  a  short  distance  when  she  re- 
membered something: 

"I '11  let  you  know  when  he  says  it,  doc!" 
she  shouted. 

"All  right,  don't  forget,"  he  smiled  back. 

When  Pearlie  turned  the  next  corner  she 
met  Maudie  Ducker.  Maudie  Ducker  had 
on  a  new  plaid  dress  with  velvet  trimming, 
and  Maudie  knew  it. 

"Is  that  your  Sunday  dress,"  she  asked 
Pearl,  looking  critically  at  Pearlie's  faded 
little  brown  winsey. 


THE  LIVE  WIRE  91 

"My,  no!"  Pearlie  answered  cheerfully. 
"This  is  just  my  morning  dress.  I  wear  my 
blue  satting  in  the  afternoon,  and  on  Sundays, 
my  purple  velvet  with  the  watter-plait,  and 
basque-yoke  of  tartaric  plaid,  garnished  with 
lace.  Yours  is  a  nice  little  plain  dress.  That 
stuff  fades  though;  ma  lined  a  quilt  for  the 
boys'  bed  with  it  and  it  faded  gray." 

Maudic  Ducker  was  a  "perfect  little  lady." 
Her  mother  often  said  so.  Maudie  could  not 
bear  to  sit  near  a  child  in  school  who  had  on  a 
dirty  pinafore  or  ragged  clothes,  and  the 
number  of  days  that  she  could  wear  a  pinafore 
without  its  showing  one  trace  of  stain  was 
simply  wonderful!  Maudie  had  two  dolls 
which  she  never  played  with.  They  were 
propped  up  against  the  legs  of  the  parlour 
table.  Maudie  could  play  the  "  Java  March" 
and  "Mary's  Pet  Waltz"on  the  piano.  She 
always  spoke  in  a  hushed  vox  tremulo,  and 
never  played  any  rough  games.  She  could 
not  bear  to  touch  a  baby,  because  it  might 
put  a  sticky  little  finger  on  her  pinafore.  All 
of  which  goes  to  show  what  a  perfect  little 
lady  she  was. 

When  Maudie  made  inquiries  of  Pearl  Wat- 


92        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

son  as  to  her  Sabbath-day  attire,  her  motives 
were  more  kindly  than  Pearl  thought. 
Maudie's  mother  was  giving  her  a  party. 
Hitherto  the  guests  upon  such  occasions  had 
been  selected  with  great  care,  and  with  respect 
to  social  standing,  and  blue  china,  and  cor- 
rect enunciation.  This  time  they  were  se- 
lected with  greater  care,  but  with  respect  to 
their  fathers'  politics.  All  conservatives  and 
undecided  voters'  children  were  included. 
The  fight  -  to  -  a  -  finish  -  for  -  the  -  grand  -  old  -  par- 
ty Reformers  were  tabooed. 

Algernon  Evans,  otherwise  known  as  the 
Czar  of  all  the  Rooshias,  only  son  of  J.  H. 
Evans,  editor  of  the  Millford  Mercury,  could 
not  be  overlooked.  Hence  the  reason  for 
asking  Pearl  Watson,  his  body-guard. 

Millford  had  two  weekly  newspapers  —  one 
Conservative  in  its  tendencies  and  the  other 
one  Reform.  Between  them  there  existed 
a  feud,  long  standing,  unquenchable,  constant. 
It  went  with  the  printing  press,  the  subscrip- 
tion list  and  the  good-will  of  the  former  owner, 
when  the  paper  changed  hands. 

The  feud  was  discernible  in  the  local  news 
as  well  as  in  the  editorials.  In  the  Reform 


THE  LIVE  WIRE  93 

paper,  which  was  edited  at  the  time  of  which 
we  write  by  a  Tipperary  man  named  McSorley, 
you  might  read  of  a  distressing  accident  which 
befell  one  Simon  Henry  (also  a  Reformer), 
while  that  great  and  good  man  was  abroad 
upon  an  errand  of  mercy,  trying  to  induce  a 
drunken  man  to  go  quietly  to  his  home  and 
family.  Mr.  Henry  was  eulogised  for  his 
kind  act,  and  regret  was  expressed  that  Mr. 
Henry  should  have  met  with  such  rough 
usage  while  endeavouring  to  hold  out  a  helping 
hand  to  one  unfortunate  enough  to  be  held  in 
the  demon  chains  of  intemperance. 

In  the  Conservative  paper  the  following 
appeared : 

We  regret  to  hear  that  Simon  Henry,  secretary  of 
the  Young  Liberal  Club,  got  mixed  up  in  a  drunken 
brawl  last  evening  and  as  a  result  will  be  confined  to  his 
house  for  a  few  days.  We  trust  his  injuries  are  not  seri- 
ous, as  his  services  are  indispensable  to  his  party  in  the 
coming  campaign. 

Reports  of  concerts,  weddings,  even  deaths, 
were  tinged  with  party  ism.  When  Daniel 
Grover,  grand  old  Conservative  war-horse, 
was  gathered  to  his  fathers  at  the  ripe  age  of 
eighty-seven  years,  the  Reform  paper  said 
that  Mr.  Grover's  death  was  not  entirely  un- 


94        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

expected,  as  his  health  had  been  failing  for 
some  time,  the  deceased  having  passed  his 
seventieth  birthday. 

McSorley,  the  Liberal  editor,  being  an 
Irishman,  was  not  without  humour,  but 
Evans,  the  other  one,  revelled  in  it.  He  was 
like  the  little  boys  who  stick  pins  in  frogs, 
not  that  they  bear  the  frogs  any  ill-will,  but 
for  the  fun  of  seeing  them  jump.  He  would 
sit  half  the  night  over  his  political  editorials, 
smiling  grimly  to  himself,  and  when  he  threw 
himself  back  in  his  chair  and  laughed  like  a 
boy  the  knife  was  turned  in  someone ! 

One  day  Mr.  James  Ducker,  lately  retired 
farmer,  sometimes  insurance  agent,  read  in 
the  Winnipeg  Telegram  that  his  friend  the 
Honourable  Thomas  Snider  had  chaperoned 
an  Elk  party  to  St.  Paul.  Mr.  Ducker  had 
but  a  hazy  idea  of  the  duties  of  a  chaperon, 
but  he  liked  the  sound  of  it,  and  it  set  him 
thinking.  He  remembered  when  Tom  Snider 
had  entered  politics  with  a  decayed  reputation, 
a  large  whiskey  bill,  and  about  $2.20  in  cash. 
Now  he  rode  in  a  private  car,  and  had  a  suite 
of  rooms  at  the  Empire,  and  the  papers  often 
spoke  of  him  as  "mine  host"  Snider.  Mr. 


THE  LIVE  WIRE  95 

Ducker  turned  over  the  paper  and  read  that 
the  genial  Thomas  had  replied  in  a  very 
happy  manner  to  a  toast  at  the  Elks'  ban- 
quet. Whereupon  Mr.  Ducker  became 
wrapped  in  deep  thought,  and  during  this 
passive  period  he  distinctly  heard  his  coun- 
try's call!  The  call  came  in  these  words:  "If 
Tom  Snider  can  do  it,  why  not  me?" 

The  idea  took  hold  of  him.  He  began  to 
brush  his  hair  artfully  over  the  bald  spot.  He 
made  strange  faces  at  his  mirror,  wondering 
which  side  of  his  face  would  be  the  best  to 
have  photographed  for  his  handbills.  He  saw 
himself  like  Cincinnatus  of  old  called  from 
the  plough  to  the  Senate,  but  he  told  himself 
there  could  not  have  been  as  good  a  thing  in 
it  then  as  there  is  now,  or  Cincinnatus  would 
not  have  come  back  to  the  steers. 

Mr.  Ducker's  social  qualities  developed 
amazingly.  He  courted  his  neighbours  assid- 
uously, sending  presents  from  his  garden, 
stopping  to  have  protracted  conversations 
with  men  whom  he  had  known  but  slightly 
before.  Every  man  whose  name  was  on  the 
voters'  list  began  to  have  a  new  significance 
for  him. 


96        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

There  was  one  man  whom  he  feared  —  that 
was  Evans,  editor  of  the  Conservative  paper. 
Sometimes  when  his  fancy  painted  for  him  a 
gay  and  alluring  picture  of  carrying  "the 
proud  old  Conservative  banner  that  has  suf- 
fered defeat,  but,  thank  God!  never  disgrace 
in  the  face  of  the  foe"  (quotation  from 
speech  Mr.  Ducker  had  prepared),  some- 
times he  would  in  the  midst  of  the  most 
glowing  and  glorious  passages  inadvertently 
think  of  Evans,  and  it  gave  him  goose-flesh. 
Mr.  Ducker  had  lived  in  and  around  Mill- 
ford  for  some  time.  So  had  Evans,  and 
Evans  had  a  most  treacherous  memory. 
You  could  not  depend  on  him  to  forget  any- 
thing! 

When  Evans  was  friendly  with  him,  Mr. 
Ducker's  hopes  ran  high,  but  when  he 
caught  Evans  looking  at  him  with  that  boy- 
ish smile  of  his  twinkling  in  his  eyes,  the 
vision  of  chaperoning  an  Elk  party  to  St. 
Paul  became  very  shadowy  indeed. 

Mr.  Ducker  tried  diplomacy.  He  with- 
drew his  insurance  advertisement  from  McSor- 
ley's  paper,  and  doubled  his  space  in  Evans's, 
paying  in  advance.  He  watched  the  trains 


THE  LIVE  WIRE  97 

for  visitors  and  reported  them  to  Evans.  He 
wrote  breezy  little  local  briefs  in  his  own  light 
cow-like  way  for  Evans's  paper. 

But  Mr.  Ducker's  journalistic  fervour  re- 
ceived a  serious  set  back  one  day.  He  rushed 
into  the  Mercury  office  just  as  the  paper  went 
to  press  with  the  news  that  old  Mrs.  William- 
son had  at  last  winged  her  somewhat  delayed 
flight.  Evans  thanked  him  with  some  cor- 
diality for  letting  him  know  in  time  to  make  a 
note  of  it,  and  asked  him  to  go  around  to 
Mrs.  Williamson's  home  and  find  out  a  few 
facts  for  the  obituary. 

Mr.  Ducker  did  so  with  great  cheerfulness, 
rather  out  of  keeping  with  the  nature  of  his 
visit.  He  felt  that  his  way  was  growing 
brighter.  When  he  reached  the  old  lady's 
home  he  was  received  with  all  courtesy  by 
her  slow-spoken  son.  Mr.  Ducker  bristled 
with  importance  as  he  made  known  his 
errand,  in  a  neat  speech,  in  which  official 
dignity  and  sympathy  were  artistically 
blended.  "The  young  may  die,  but  the  old 
must  die,"  he  reminded  Mr.  Williamson  as  he 
produced  his  pencil  and  tablet.  Mr.  William- 
son gave  a  detailed  account  of  his  mother's 


98        SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

early  life,  marriages  first  and  second,  and 
located  all  her  children  with  painstaking 
accuracy.  "Left  to  mourn  her  loss,"  Mr. 
Ducker  wrote. 

"And  the  cause  of  her  death?"  Mr.  Ducker 
inquired  gently,  "general  breaking  down  of 
the  system,  I  suppose?"  with  his  pencil  poised 
in  the  air. 

Mr.  Williamson  knit  his  shaggy  brows. 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  say  too  much  about 
mother's  death  if  I  were  you.  Stick  to  her 
birth,  and  the  date  she  joined  the  church,  and 
her  marriages  —  they  're  sure.  But  mother's 
death  is  a  little  uncertain,  just  yet." 

A  toothless  chuckle  came  from  the  adjoin- 
ing room.  Mrs.  Williamson  had  been  an 
interested  listener  to  the  conversation. 

"Order  my  coffin,  Ducker,  on  your  way 
down,  but  never  mind  the  flowers,  they  might 
not  keep,"  she  shrilled  after  him  as  he  beat  a 
hasty  retreat. 

When  Mr.  Ducker,  crestfallen  and  humili- 
ated, re-entered  the  Mercury  office  a  few 
moments  later,  he  was  watched  by  two 
twinkling  Irish  eyes,  that  danced  with  unholy 
merriment  at  that  good  man's  discomfiture. 


THE  LIVE  WIRE  99 

They  belonged  to  Ignatius  Benedicto  Mc- 
Sorley,  the  editor  of  the  other  paper. 

But  Mrs.  Ducker  was  hopeful.  A  friend 
of  hers  in  Winnipeg  had  already  a  house  in 
view  for  them,  and  Mrs.  Ducker  had  decided 
the  church  they  would  attend  when  the 
session  opened,  and  what  day  she  would  have, 
and  many  other  important  things  that  it  is 
well  to  have  one's  mind  made  up  on  and  not 
leave  to  the  last.  Maudie  Ducker  had  been 
taken  into  the  secret,  and  began  to  feel  sorry 
for  the  other  little  girls  whose  papas  were 
contented  to  let  them  live  always  in 
such  a  pokey  little  place  as  Millford.  Maudie 
also  began  to  dream  dreams  of  sweeping  in 
upon  the  Millford  people  in  flowing  robes  and 
waving  plumes  and  sparkling  diamonds,  in  a 
gorgeous  red  automobile.  Wilford  Ducker 
only  of  the  Ducker  family  was  not  taken 
into  the  secret.  He  was  too  young,  his  mother 
said,  to  understand  the  change. 

The  nomination  day  was  drawing  near, 
which  had  something  to  do  with  the  date  of 
Maudie  Ducker's  party.  Mrs.  Ducker  told 
Maudie  they  must  invite  the  czar  and  Pearl 
Watson,  though,  of  course,  she  did  not  say 


ioo      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

the  czar.  She  said  Algernon  Evans  and  that 
little  Watson  girl.  Maudie,  being  a  perfect 
little  lady  objected  to  Pearl  Watson  on 
account  of  her  scanty  wardrobe,  and  to  the 
czar's  moist  little  hands;  but  Mrs.  Ducker, 
knowing  that  the  czar's  father  was  their  long 
suit,  stood  firm. 

Mr.  Ducker  had  said  to  her  that  very 
morning,  rubbing  his  hands,  and  speaking  in 
the  conspirator's  voice:  "We  must  leave  no 
stone  unturned.  This  is  the  time  of  seed- 
sowing,  my  dear.  We  must  pull  every  wire." 

The  czar  was  a  wire,  therefore  they  pro- 
ceeded to  pull  him.  They  did  not  know  he 
was  a  live  wire  until  later. 

Pearl  Watson's  delight  at  being  asked  to  a 
real  party  knew  no  bounds.  Maudie  need 
not  have  worried  about  Pearl's  appearing  at 
the  feast  without  the  festal  robe.  The  dress 
that  Camilla  had  made  for  her  was  just  wait- 
ing for  such  an  occasion  to  air  its  loveliness. 
Anything  that  was  needed  to  complete  her 
toilet  was  supplied  by  her  kind-hearted  mis- 
tress, the  czar's  mother. 

But  Mrs.  Evans  stood  looking  wistfully 
after  her  only  son  as  Pearl  wheeled  him  gaily 


THE  LIVE  WIRE  101 

down  the  walk.  He  was  beautifully  dressed 
in  the  finest  of  mull  and  Valenciennes;  his 
carriage  was  the  loveliest  they  could  buy; 
Pearl  in  her  neat  hat  and  dress  was  a  little 
nurse  girl  to  be  proud  of.  But  Mrs.  Evans's 
pretty  face  was  troubled.  She  was  thinking 
of  the  pretty  baby  pictures  in  the  maga- 
zines, and  Algernon  was  so — different!  And 
his  nose  was  —  strange,  too,  and  she  had 
massaged  it  so  carefully,  too,  and  when,  oh 
when,  would  he  say  "  Daddy-dinger !" 

But  Algernon  was  not  envious  of  any  other 
baby's  beauty  that  afternoon,  nor  worried 
about  his  nose  either  as  he  bumped  up  and 
down  in  his  carriage  in  glad  good  humour, 
and  delivered  full-sized  gurgling  "goos"  at 
every  person  he  met,  even  throwing  them 
along  the  street  in  the  prodigality  of  his 
heart,  as  he  waved  his  fat  hands  and  thumped 
his  heavy  little  heels. 

Pearl  held  her  head  high  arid  was  very 
much  the  body-guard  as  she  lifted  the  weighty 
ruler  to  the  ground.  Mrs.  Ducker  ran 
down  the  steps  and  kissed  the  czar  ostenta- 
tiously, pouring  out  such  a  volume  of  admir- 
ing and  endearing  epithets  that  Pearl  stood 


102      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

in  bewilderment,  wondering  why  she  had 
never  heard  of  this  before.  Mrs.  Ducker 
carried  the  czar  into  the  house,  Pearl  following 
with  one  eye  shut,  which  was  her  way  of 
expressing  perplexity. 

Two  little  girls  in  very  fluffy  short  skirts, 
sat  demurely  in  the  hammock,  keeping  their 
dresses  clean  and  wondering  if  there  would  be 
ice-cream.  Within  doors  Maudie  worried 
out  the  "Java  March"  on  the  piano,  to  a 
dozen  or  more  patient  little  listeners.  On 
the  lawn  several  little  girls  played  croquet. 
There  were  no  boys  at  the  party.  Wilford 
was  going  to  have  the  boys  —  that  is,  the 
Conservative  boys  the  next  day.  Mrs. 
Ducker  did  not  believe  in  co-education. 
Boys  are  so  rough,  except  Wilford.  He  had 
been  so  carefully  brought  up,  he  was  not 
rough  at  all.  He  stood  awkwardly  by  the 
gate  watching  the  girls  play  croquet.  He 
had  been  left  without  a  station  at  his  own 
request.  Patsey  Watson  rode  by  on  a  dray 
wagon,  dirty  and  jolly.  Wilford  called  to 
him  furtively,  but  Patsey  was  busy  holding 
on  and  did  not  hear  him.  Wilford  sighed 
heavily.  Down  at  the  tracks  a  freight  train 


THE  LIVE  WIRE  103 

shunted  and  shuddered.  Not  a  boy  was  in 
sight.  He  knew  why.  The  farmers  were 
loading  cattle  cars. 

Pearl  went  around  to  the  side  lawn  where 
the  girls  were  playing  croquet,  holding  the 
czar's  hand  tightly. 

"What  are  you  playin'?"  she  asked. 

They  told  her. 

"Can  you  play  it?"  Mildred  Bates  asked. 

' '  I  guess  I  can, ' '  Pearl  said  modestly.  ' '  But 
I  'm  always  too  busy  for  games  like  that! " 

"Maudie  Ducker  says  you  never  play," 
Mildred  Bates  said  with  pity  in  her  voice. 

"Maudie  Ducker  is  away  off  there,"  Pearl 
answered  with  dignity.  "  I  have  more  fun  in 
one  day  than  Maudie  Ducker  '11  ever  have 
if  she  lives  to  be  as  old  as  Melchesidick,  and 
it  's  not  this  frowsy  standin'-round-doin'- 
nothin'  that  you  kids  call  fun  either." 

"Tell  us  about  it,  Pearl,"  they  shouted 
eagerly.  Pearl's  stories  had  a  charm. 

"Well,"  Pearl  began,  "ye  know  I  wash 
Mrs.  Evans's  dishes  every  day,  and  lovely 
ones  they  are,  too,  all  pink  and  gold  with 
dinky  little  ivy  leaves  crawlin'  out  over  the 
edges  of  the  cups.  I  play  I  am  at  the  sea- 


104      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

shore  and  the  tide  is  comin'  in  o'er  and  o'er 
the  sand  and  'round  and  'round  the  land,  far 
as  eye  can  see — that 's  out  of  a  book.  I  put 
all  the  dishes  into  the  big  dish  pan,  and  I 
pertend  the  tide  is  risin'  on  them,  though  it  's 
just  me  pourin'  on  the  water.  The  cups  are 
the  boys  and  the  saucers  are  the  girls,  the 
plates  are  the  fathers  and  mothers  and  the 
butter  chips  are  the  babies.  Then  I  rush  in 
to  save  them,  but  not  until  they  cry  'Lord 
save  us,  we  perish!'  Of  course,  I  yell  it  for 
them,  good  and  loud  too — people  don't  just 
squawk  at  a  time  like  that  —  it  often  scares 
Mrs.  Evans  even  yet.  I  save  the  babies  first. 
I  slush  them  around  to  clean  them,  but 
they  never  notice  that,  and  I  stand  them  up 
high  and  dry  in  the  drip-pan.  Then  I  go  in 
after  the  girls,  and  they  quiet  down  the  babies 
in  the  drip-pan ;  and  then  the  mothers  I 
bring  out,  and  the  boys  and  the  fathers. 
Sometimes  some  of  the  men  make  a  dash 
out  before  the  women,  but  you  bet  I  lay 
them  back  in  a  hurry.  Then  I  set  the 
ocean  back  on  the  stove,  and  I  rub  the 
babies  to  get  their  blood  circlin'  again,  and 
I  get  them  all  put  to  bed  on  the  second  shelf 


THE  LIVE  WIRE  105 

and  they  soon  forget  they  were  so  near 
death's  door." 

Mary  Ducker  had  finished  the  "Java 
March"  and  "Mary's  Pet  Waltz,"  and  had 
joined  the  interested  group  on  the  lawn  and 
now  stood  listening  in  dull  wonder. 

"I  rub  them  all  and  shine  them  well," 
Pearl  went  on,  ' '  and  get  them  all  packed  off 
home  into  the  china  cupboard,  every  man 
jack  o'  them  singin'  '  Are  we  yet  alive  and  see 
each  other's  face,'  Mrs.  Evans  sings  it  for 
them  when  she  's  there. 

"Then  I  get  the  vegetable  dishes  and 
bowls  and  silverware  and  all  that,  and  that 's 
an  excursion,  and  they  're  all  drunk,  not  a 
sober  man  on  board.  They  sing  'Sooper  up 
old  boys,'  'We  won't  go  home  till  mornin' 
and  all  that,  and  crash!  a  cry  bursts  from 
every  soul  on  board.  They  have  struck  upon 
a  rock  and  are  going  down!  Water  pours  in 
at  the  gunnel  (that's  just  me  with  more 
water  and  soap,  you  know) ,  but  I  ain  't  sorry 
for  them,  for  they  're  all  old  enough  to  know 
that  'wine  is  a  mocker,  strong  drink  is  ragin', 
and  whosoever  is  deceived  thereby  is  not 
wise.'  But  when  the  crash  comes  and  the 


106      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

swellin'  waters  burst  in  they  get  sober  pret' 
quick  and  come  rushin'  up  on  deck  with  pale 
faces  to  see  what 's  wrong,  and  I  've  often  seen 
a  big  bowl  whirl  'round  and  'round  kind  o' 
dizzy  and  say  'woe  is  me!'  and  sink  to  the 
bottom.  Mrs.  Evans  told  me  that.  Any- 
way I  do  save  them  at  last,  when  they  see 
what  whiskey  is  doin'  for  them.  I  rub  them 
all  up  and  send  them  home.  The  steel  knives 
—  they  're  the  worst  of  all.  But  though 
they're  black  and  stained  with  sin,  they're 
still  our  brothers,  and  so  we  give  them  the 
gold  cure  —  that 's  the  bath-brick,  and  they 
make  a  fresh  start. 

"When  I  sweep  the  floor  I  pertend  I  'm 
the  army  of  the  Lord  that  comes  to  clear  the 
way  from  dust  and  sin,  let  the  King  of  Glory 
in.  Under  the  stove  the  hordes  of  sin  are 
awful  thick,  they  love  darkness  rather  than 
light,  because  their  deeds  are  evil!  But  I  say 
the  'sword  of  the  Lord  and  of  Gideon!'  and 
let  them  have  it!  Sometimes  I  pertend  I'm 
the  woman  that  lost  the  piece  of  silver  and  I 
sweep  the  house  diligently  till  I  find  it,  and 
once  Mrs.  Evans  did  put  ten  cents  in  a 
corner  just  for  fun  for  me,  and  I  never 


THE  LIVE  WIRE  107 

know  when  she  's  goin'  to  do  something  like 
that." 

Here  Maudie  Duckcr,  who  had  been 
listening  with  growing  wonder  interrupted 
Pearl  with  the  cry  of  "  Oh,  here  's  pa  and  Mr. 
Evans.  They  're  going  to  take  our  pictures!" 

The  little  girls  were  immediately  roused 
out  of  the  spell  that  Pearlie's  story  had  put 
upon  them,  and  began  to  group  themselves 
under  the  trees,  arranging  their  little  skirts 
and  frills. 

The  czar  had  toddled  on  his  uncertain 
little  fat  legs  around  to  the  back  door,  for  he 
had  caught  sight  of  a  red  head  which  he  knew 
and  liked  very  much.  It  belonged  to  Mary 
McSorley,  the  eldest  of  the  McSorley  family, 
who  had  brought  over  to  Mrs.  Ducker  the 
extra  two  quarts  of  milk  which  Mrs.  Ducker 
had  ordered  for  the  occasion. 

Mary  sat  on  the  back  step  until  Mrs. 
Ducker  should  find  time  to  empty  her 
pitcher.  Mary  was  strictly  an  outsider. 
Mary's  father  was  a  Reformer.  He  ran  the 
opposition  paper  to  dear  Mr.  Evans.  Mary 
was  never  well  dressed,  partly  accounted  for 
by  the  fact  that  the  angels  had  visited  the 


io8      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

McSorley  home  so  often.  Therefore,  for  these 
reasons,  Mary  sat  on  the  back  step,  a  rank 
outsider. 

The  czar,  who  knew  nothing  of  these  things, 
began  to  "  goo  "  as  soon  as  he  saw  her.  Mary 
reached  out  her  arms.  The  czar  stumbled 
into  them  and  Mary  fell  to  kissing  his  bald 
head.  She  felt  more  at  home  with  a  baby  in 
her  arms. 

It  was  at  this  unfortunate  moment  that 
Mr.  Ducker  and  Mr.  Evans  came  around  to 
the  rear  of  the  house.  Mr.  Evans  was  begin- 
ning to  think  rather  more  favourably  of  Mr. 
Ducker,  as  the  prospective  Conservative 
member.  He  might  do  all  right  —  there  are 
plenty  worse — he  has  no  brains  —  but  that 
does  not  matter.  What  need  has  a  man 
of  brains  when  he  goes  into  politics  ?  Brainy 
men  make  the  trouble.  The  Grits  made 
that  mistake  once,  elected  a  brainy  man, 
and  they  have  had  no  peace  since. 

Mr.  Ducker  had  adroitly  drawn  the  con- 
versation to  a  general  discussion  of  children. 
He  knew  that  Mr.  Evans's  weak  point  was  his 
little  son  Algernon. 

"That  's    a    clever  looking  little  chap  of 


THE  LIVE  WIRE  109 

yours,  Evans,"  he  had  remarked  carelessly  as 
they  came  up  the  street.  (Mr.  Ducker  had 
never  seen  the  czar  closely.)  "My  wife  was 
just  saying  the  other  day  that  he  has  a  won- 
derful forehead  for  a  little  fellow." 

"He  has,"  the  other  man  said  smiling,  not 
at  all  displeased.  "It  runs  clear  down  to 
his  neck!" 

"He  can  hardly  help  being  clever  if  there  's 
anything  in  heredity,"  Mr.  Ducker  went  on 
with  infinite  tact,  feeling  his  rainbow  dreams 
of  responding  to  toasts  at  Elk  banquets 
drawing  nearer  and  nearer. 

Then  the  Evil  Genius  of  the  House  of 
Ducker  awoke  from  his  slumber,  sat  up  and 
took  notice!  The  house  that  the  friend  in 
Winnipeg  had  selected  for  them  fell  into 
irreparable  ruins!  Poor  Maudie's  automobile 
vanished  at  a  touch.  The  rosy  dreams  of 
Cincinnatus,  and  of  carrying  the  grand  old 
Conservative  banner  in  the  face  of  the  foe 
turned  to  clay  and  ashes! 

They  turned  the  corner,  and  came  upon 
Mary  McSorley  who  sat  on  the  back  step  with 
the  czar  in  her  arms.  Mary's  head  was  hidden 
as  she  kissed  the  czar's  fat  neck,  and  in  the 


no      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

general  babel  of  voices,  within  and  without, 
she  did  not  hear  them  coming. 

"Speaking  about  heredity,"  Mr.  Ducker 
said  suavely,  speaking  in  a  low  voice,  and 
looking  at  whom  he  supposed  to  be  the  latest 
McSorley,  "  it  looks  as  if  there  must  be  some- 
thing in  it  over  there.  Is  n't  that  McSorley 
over  again?  Low  forehead,  pug  nose,  bull- 
dog tendencies."  Mr.  Ducker  was  some- 
thing of  a  phrenologist,  and  went  blithely  on 
to  his  own  destruction. 

"Now  the  girl  is  rather  pleasant  looking, 
and  some  of  the  others  are  not  bad  at  all. 
But  this  one  is  surely  a  regular  little  Mickey. 
I  believe  a  person  would  be  safe  in  saying 
that  he  would  not  grow  up  a  Presbyterian." 
—  Mr.  Evans  was  the  worshipful  Grand 
Master  of  the  Loyal  Orange  Lodge,  and  well 
up  in  the  Black,  and  this  remark  Mr.  Ducker 
thought  he  would  appreciate. 

"McSorley  will  never  be  dead  while  this 
little  fellow  lives,"  Mr.  Ducker  laughed  mer- 
rily, rubbing  his  hands. 

The  czar  looked  up  and  saw  his  father. 
Perhaps  he  understood  what  had  been  said, 
and  saw  the  hurt  in  his  father's  face  and 


THE  LIVE  WIRE  in 

longed  to  heal  him  of  it;  perhaps  the  time 
had  come  when  he  should  forever  break  the 
goo-goo  bonds  that  had  lain  upon  his  speech. 
He  wriggled  off  Mary's  knee,  and  toddling 
uncertainly  across  the  grass  with  a  mighty 
mental  conflict  in  his  pudgy  little  face,  held 
out  his  dimpled  arms  with  a  glad  cry  of  "  Dad- 
dy-dinger!" 

That  evening  while  Mrs.  Ducker  and 
Maudie  were  busy  fanning  Mr.  Ducker  and 
putting  wet  towels  on  his  head,  Mr.  Evans  sat 
down  to  write. 

"  Some  more  of  that  tiresome  election  stuff, 
John,"  his  pretty  little  wife  said  in  disap- 
pointment, as  she  proudly  rocked  the  eman- 
cipated czar  to  sleep. 

"Yes,  dear,  it  is  election  stuff,  but  it  is  not 
a  bit  tiresome,"  he  answered  smiling,  as  he 
kissed  her  tenderly.  Several  times  during 
the  evening,  and  into  the  night,  she  heard  him 
laugh  his  happy  boyish  laugh. 

James  Ducker  did  not  get  the  nomination. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE    BUTCHER-RIDE 

FTSEY  WATSON  waited  on  the  corner 
of  the  street.  It  was  in  the  early 
morning  and  Patsey's  face  bore  marks  of  a 
recent  and  mighty  conflict  with  soap  and 
water.  Patsey  looked  apprehensively  every 
now  and  then  at  his  home;  his  mother 
might  emerge  any  minute  and  insist  on  his 
wearing  a  coat ;  his  mother  could  be  very  tire- 
some that  way  sometimes. 

It  seemed  long  this  morning  to  wait  for  the 
butcher,  but  the  only  way  to  be  sure  of  a  ride 
was  to  be  on  the  spot.  Sometimes  there  were 
delays  in  getting  away  from  home.  Getting 
on  a  coat  was  one ;  finding  a  hat  was  the  worst 
of  all.  Since  Bugsey  got  the  nail  in  his  foot 
and  could  not  go  out  the  hat  question  was 
easier.  The  hat  was  still  hard  to  find,  but 
not  impossible. 

Wilford  Ducker  came  along.     Wilford  had 


THE  BUTCHER-RIDE  113 

just  had  a  dose  of  electric  oil  artfully  con- 
cealed in  a  cup  of  tea,  and  he  felt  desperate. 
His  mother  had  often  told  him  not  to  play 
with  any  of  the  Watson  boys,  they  were  so 
rough  and  unladylike  in  their  manner.  Per- 
haps that  was  why  Wilford  came  over  at  once 
to  Patsey.  Patsey  did  not  care  for  Wilford 
Ducker  even  if  he  did  live  in  a  big  house 
with  screen  doors  on  it.  Mind  you,  he  did  not 
wear  braces  yet,  only  a  waist  with  white 
buttons  on  it,  and  him  seven !  Patsey's  man- 
ner was  cold. 

"  You  goin'  fer  butcher-ride?"  Wilford  asked. 

"Yep,"  Patsey  answered  with  very  little 
warmth. 

"Say,  Pat,  lemme  go,"  Wilford  coaxed. 

"Nope,"  Patsey  replied,  indifferently. 

"Aw,  do,  Pat,  won't  cher?" 

Mrs.  Ducker  had  been  very  particular 
about  Wilford's  enunciation.  Once  she  dis- 
missed a  servant  for  dropping  her  final  g's. 
Mrs.  Ducker  considered  it  more  serious  to 
drop  a  final  g  than  a  dinner  plate.  She  often 
spoke  of  how  particular  she  was.  She  said 
she  had  insisted  on  correct  enunciation  from 
the  first.  So  Wilford  said  again: 


ii4      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

"Aw,  do,  Pat,  won't  cher?" 
Patsey  looked  carelessly  down  the  street 
and  began  to  sing: 

How  much  wood  would  a  wood-chuck  chuck 
If  a  wood-chuck  could  chuck  wood. 

"What  cher  take  fer  butcher-ride,  Pat?" 
Wilford  asked. 

"What  cher  got?" 

Patsey  had  stopped  singing,  but  still  beat 
time  with  his  foot  to  the  imaginary  music. 

Wilford  produced  a  jack-knife  in  very  good 
repair. 

Patsey  stopped  beating  time,  though  only 
for  an  instant.  It  does  not  do  to  be  too  keen. 

"  It 's  a  good  un,"  Wilford  said  with  pride. 
"It  's  a  Rodger,  mind  ye  —  two  blades." 

"Name  yer  price,"  Patsey  condescended, 
after  a  deliberate  examination. 

"Lemme  ride  all  week,  ord'rin'  and 
deliv'rin'." 

"Not  much,  I  won't,"  Patsey  declared 
stoutly.  "You  can  ride  three  days  for  it." 

Wilford  began  to  whimper,  but  just  then 
the  butcher  cart  whirled  around  the  corner. 

Wilford  ran  toward  it.  Patsey  held  the 
knife. 


THE  BUTCHER-RIDE  115 

The  butcher  stopped  and  let  Wilford  mount. 
It  was  all  one  to  the  butcher.  He  knew  he 
usually  got  a  boy  at  this  corner. 

Patsey  ran  after  the  butcher  cart.  He  had 
caught  sight  of  someone  whom  Wilford  had 
not  yet  noticed.  It  was  Mrs.  Ducker.  Mrs. 
Ducker  had  been  down  the  street  ordering  a 
crate  of  pears.  Mrs.  Ducker  was  just  as 
particular  about  pears  as  she  was  about  final 
g's,  so  she  had  gone  herself  to  select  them. 

When  she  saw  Wilford,  her  son,  riding  with 
the  butcher  —  well,  really,  she  could  not 
have  told  the  sensation  it  gave  her.  Wilford 
could  not  have  told,  either,  just  how  he  felt 
when  he  saw  his  mother.  But  both  Mrs. 
Ducker  and  her  son  had  a  distinct  sensation 
when  they  met  that  morning. 

She  called  Wilford,  and  he  came.  No 
sooner  had  he  left  his  seat  than  Patsey  Wat- 
son took  his  place.  Wilford  dared  not  ask  for 
the  return  of  the  knife:  his  mother  would 
know  that  he  had  had  dealings  with  Patsey 
Watson,  and  his  account  at  the  maternal  bank 
was  already  overdrawn. 

Mrs.  Ducker  was  more  sorrowful  than 
angry. 


n6      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

"Wilford!"  she  said  with  great  dignity, 
regarding  the  downcast  little  boy  with  exag- 
gerated scorn,  "and  you  a  Ducker!" 

She  escorted  the  fallen  Ducker  sadly 
homeward,  but,  oh,  so  glad  that  she  had 
saved  him  from  the  corroding  influence  of  the 
butcher  boy. 

While  Wilford  Ducker  was  unfastening 
the  china  buttons  on  his  waist,  preparatory  to 
a  season  of  rest  and  retirement,  that  he  might 
the  better  ponder  upon  the  sins  of  disobe- 
dience and  evil  associations,  Patsey  Watson 
was  opening  and  shutting  his  new  knife 
proudly. 

"It  was  easy  done,"  he  was  saying  to  him- 
self. "I  'm  kinder  sorry  I  jewed  him  down 
now.  Might  as  well  ha'  let  him  have  the 
week.  Sure,  there 's  no  luck  in  being  mane." 


CHAPTER  XI 

HOW    PEARL    WATSON    WIPED    OUT    THE    STAIN 

MRS.  MOTHERWELL  felt  bitterly 
grieved  with  Polly  for  failing  her 
just  when  she  needed  her  the  most;  " after  me 
keepin'  her  and  puttin'  up  with  her  all  sum- 
mer," she  said.  She  began  to  wonder  where 
she  could  secure  help.  Then  she  had  an 
inspiration ! 

The  Watsons  still  owed  ten  dollars  on  the  ca- 
boose. The  eldest  Watson  girl  was  big  enough 
to  work.  They  would  get  her.  And  get  ten 
dollars'  worth  of  work  out  of  her  if  they  could. 

The  next  Saturday  night  John  Watson 
announced  to  his  family  that  old  Sam  Mother- 
well  wanted  Pearlie  to  go  out  and  work  off 
the  caboose  debt. 

Mrs.  Watson  cried,  "God  help  us!"  and 
threw  her  apron  over  her  head. 

"Who'll  keep  the  dandrew  out  of  me 
hair?"  Mary  said  tearfully,  "if  Pearlie  goes 

away?" 

117 


n8      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

"Who  '11  make  me  remember  to  spit  on  me 
warts?"  Bugsey  asked. 

"Who'll  keep  house  when  ma  goes  to 
wash?"  wee  Tommy  wailed  dismally. 

Danny's  grievance  could  not  be  expressed 
in  words.  He  buried  his  tousy  head  in 
Pearl's  apron,  and  Pearl  saw  at  once  that  her 
whole  house  were  about  to  be  submerged  ir 
tears,  idle  tears. 

"Stop  your  bleat  in',  all  of  yez!"  she  com- 
manded in  her  most  authoritative  voice.  "  I 
will  go!"  she  said,  with  blazing  eyes.  "  I  will 
go,  I  will  wipe  the  stain  off  me  house  once  and 
forever!"  waving  her  arm  dramatically  to- 
ward the  caboose  which  formed  the  sleeping 
apartment  for  the  boys.  "To  die,  to  die  for 
those  we  love  is  nobler  far  than  wear  a  crown !" 
Pearl  had  attended  the  Queen  Esther  cantata 
the  winter  before.  She  knew  now  how  poor 
Esther  felt. 

On  the  following  Monday  afternoon  every- 
thing was  ready  for  Pearl's  departure.  Her 
small  supply  of  clothing  was  washed  and 
ironed  and  neatly  packed  in  a  bird-cage.  It 
was  Mary  who  thought  of  the  bird-cage  "sit- 
tin'  down  there  in  the  cellar  doin'  nothin', 


PEARL  WIPES  OUT  THE  STAIN  119 

and  with  a  handle  on  it,  too."  Mary  was 
getting  to  be  almost  as  smart  co  Pearl  to 
think  of  things. 

Pearl  had  bidden  good-bye  to  them  all  and 
was  walking  to  the  door  when  her  mother 
called  her  back  to  repeat  her  parting  instruc- 
tions. 

"  Now,  mind,  PeaHie  dear,  not  to  be  pickin' 
up  wid  strangers,  and  speakin'  to  people  ye 
don't  know,  and  don't  be  showin'  yer  money 
or  makin'  change  wid  anyone." 

Pearl  was  not  likely  to  disobey  the  last  in- 
junction. She  had  seventeen  cents  in  money, 
ten  cents  of  which  Teddy  had  given  her,  and 
the  remaining  seven  cents  had  come  in  under 
the  heading  of  small  sums,  from  the  other 
members  of  the  family. 

She  was  a  pathetic  little  figure  in  her  brown 
and  white  checked  dress,  with  her  worldly 
effects  in  the  bird-cage,  as  she  left  the  shelter 
of  her  father's  roof  and  went  forth  into 
the  untried  world.  She  went  over  to  Mrs. 
Francis  to  say  good-bye  to  her  and  to 
Camilla. 

Mrs.  Francis  was  much  pleased  with  Pearl's 
spirit  of  independence  and  spoke  beautifully 


120      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

of  the  opportunities  for  service  which  would 
open  for  her. 

"You  must  keep  a  diary,  Pearl,"  she  said 
enthusiastically.  "Set  down  in  it  all  you  see 
and  feel.  You  will  have  such  splendid  oppor- 
tunities for  observing  plant  and  animal  life  — 
the  smallest  little  insect  is  wonderfully  inter- 
esting. I  will  be  so  anxious  to  hear  how  you 
are  impressed  with  the  great  green  world  of 
Out  of  Doors!  Take  care  of  your  health,  too, 
Pearl;  see  that  your  room  is  ventilated." 

While  Mrs.  Francis  elaborated  on  the  ele- 
ments of  proper  living,  Camilla  in  the  kitchen 
had  opened  the  little  bundle  in  the  cage,  and 
put  into  it  a  pair  of  stockings  and  two  or  three 
handkerchiefs,  then  she  slipped  in  a  little 
purse  containing  ten  shining  ten-cent  pieces, 
and  an  orange.  She  arranged  the  bundle  to 
look  just  as  it  did  before,  so  that  she  would 
not  have  to  meet  Pearl's  gratitude. 

Camilla  hastily  set  the  kettle  to  boil,  and 
began  to  lay  the  table.  She  could  hear  the  vel- 
vety tones  of  Mrs.  Francis's  voice  in  the  library. 

"Mrs.  Francis  speaks  a  strange  language," 
she  said,  smiling  to  herself,  "but  it  can  be 
translated  into  bread  and  butter  and  apple 


PEARL  WIPES  OUT  THE  STAIN  121 

sauce,  and  even  into  shoes  and  stockings, 
when  you  know  how  to  interpret  it.  But 
would  n't  it  be  dreadful  if  she  had  no  one  to 
express  it  in  the  tangible  things  of  life  for  her. 
Think  of  her  talking  about  proper  diet  and 
aids  to  digestion  to  that  little  Imngry  girl. 
Well,  it  seems  to  be  my  mission  to  step  into 
the  gap  —  I  'm  a  miss  with  a  mission"  — 
she  was  slicing  some  cold  ham  as  she 
spoke — ' '  I  am  something  of  a  health  talker, 
too." 

Camilla  knocked  at  the  library  door,  and  in 
answer  to  Mrs.  Francis's  invitation  to  enter, 
opened  the  door  and  said: 

"Mrs.  Francis,  would  it  not  be  well  for 
Pearl  to  have  a  lunch  before  she  starts  for  her 
walk  into  the  country;  the  air  is  so  exhila- 
rating, you  know." 

"How  thoughtful  you  are,  Camilla!" 
Mrs.  Francis  exclaimed  with  honest  admira- 
tion. 

Thus  it  happened  that  Pearlie  Watson, 
aged  twelve,  began  her  journey  into  the  big 
unknown  world,  fully  satisfied  in  body  and 
soul,  and  with  a  great  love  for  all  the  world. 

At   the   corner   of   the   street   stood   Mrs. 


122      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

McGuire,  and  at  sight  of  her  Pearl's  heart 
stopped  beating. 

"It's  bad  luck,"  she  said.  "I'd  as  lief 
have  a  rabbit  cross  me  path  as  her." 

But  she  walked  bravely  forward  with  no 
outward  sign  of  her  inward  trembling. 

"Goin'  to  Sam  MotherwelTs,  are  ye?"  the 
old  lady  asked  shrilly. 

"Yes  'm,"  Pearl  said,  trembling. 

"She  's  a  tarter;  she  's  a  skinner;  she  's  a 
damner;  that 's  what  she  is.  She 's  my  own 
first  cousin  and  I  know  her.  Sass  her;  that 's 
the  only  way  to  get  along  with  her.  Tell  her 
I  said  so.  Here,  child,  rub  yer  j'ints  with 
this  when  ye  git  stiff."  She  handed  Pearl  a 
black  bottle  of  home-made  liniment. 

Pearl  thanked  her  and  hurried  on,  but  at 
the  next  turn  of  the  street  she  met  Danny. 

Danny  was  in  tears;  Danny  wasn't  going 
to  let  Pearlie  go  away;  Danny  would  run 
away  and  get  lost  and  runned  over  and 
drownded,  now!  Pearl's  heart  melted,  and 
sitting  on  the  sidewalk  she  took  Danny  in  her 
arms,  and  they  cried  together.  A  whirr  of 
wheels  aroused  Pearl  and  looking  up  she  saw 
the  kindly  face  of  the  young  doctor. 


PEARL  WIPES  OUT  THE  STAIN    123 

"What  is  it,  Pearl?"  he  asked  kindly. 
"  Surely  that 's  not  Danny  I  see,  spoiling  his 
face  that  way!" 

' '  It 's  Danny, ' '  Pearl  said  unsteadily.  "  It 's 
hard  enough  to  leave  him  widout  him  comin' 
afther  me  and  breakin'me  heart  all  over  again." 

"That 's  what  it  is,  Pearl,"  the  doctor  said, 
smiling.  "I  think  it  is  mighty  thoughtless 
of  Danny  the  way  he  is  acting." 

Danny  held  obstinately  to  Pearl's  skirt, 
and  cried  harder  than  ever.  He  would  not 
even  listen  when  the  doctor  spoke  of  taking 
him  for  a  drive. 

"Listen  to  the  doctor,"  Pearl  commanded 
sternly,  "  or  he  '11  raise  a  gumboil  on  ye." 

Thus  admonished  Danny  ceased  his  sobs; 
but  he  showed  no  sign  of  interest  when  the 
doctor  spoke  of  popcorn,  and  at  the  mention 
of  ice-cream  he  looked  simply  bored. 

"He's  awful  fond  of  'hoo-hung'  candy," 
Pearlie  suggested  in  a  whisper,  holding  her 
hand  around  her  mouth  so  that  Danny  might 
not  hear  her. 

"Ten  cents'  worth  of  'hoo-hung'  candy  to 
the  boy  that  says  good-bye  to  his  sister  like  a 
gentleman  and  rides  home  with  me," 


124      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

Danny  dried  his  eyes  on  Pearl's  skirt,  kissed 
her  gravely  and  climbed  into  the  buggy 
beside  the  doctor.  Waterloo  was  won! 

Pearl  did  not  trust  herself  to  look  back  as 
she  walked  along  the  deeply  beaten  road. 

The  yellow  cone-flowers  raised  their  heads 
like  golden  stars  along  the  roadside,  and  the 
golden  glory  of  the  approaching  harvest  lay 
upon  everything.  To  the  right  the  Tiger 
Hills  lay  on  the  horizon  wrapped  in  a  blue 
mist.  Flocks  of  blackbirds  swarmed  over 
the  ripening  oats,  and  angrily  fought  with 
each  other. 

"And  it  not  cost  in'  them  a  cent!"  Pearl 
said  in  disgust  as  she  stopped  to  watch  them. 

The  exhilaration  of  the  air,  the  glory  of  the 
waving  grain,  the  profusion  of  wild  flowers 
that  edged  the  fields  with  purple  and  yellow 
were  like  wine  to  her  sympathetic  Irish  heart 
as  she  walked  through  the  grain  fields  and 
drank  in  all  the  beauties  that  lay  around, 
and  it  was  not  until  she  came  in  sight  of  the 
big  stone  house,  gloomy  and  bare,  that  she 
realised  with  a  start  of  homesickness  that  she 
was  Pearl  Watson,  aged  twelve,  away  from 
home  for  the  first  time,  and  bound  to  work 


PEARL  WIPEvS  OUT  THE  STAIN    125 

three  months  for  a  woman  of  reputed  ill- 
temper. 

"But  I  '11  do  it,"  Pearl  said,  swallowing  the 
lump  that  gathered  in  her  throat,  "I  can 
work.  Nobody  never  said  that  none  of  the 
Watsons  couldn't  work.  I'll  stay  out  me 
time  if  it  kills  me." 

So  saying3  Pearl  knocked  timidly  at  the 
back  door.  Myriads  of  flies  buzzed  on  the 
screen.  From  within  a  tired  voice  said, 
"Come  in." 

Pearl  walked  in  and  saw  a  large  bare  room, 
with  a  long  table  in  the  middle.  A  sewing 
machine  littered  with  papers  stood  in  front  of 
one  window. 

The  floor  had  been  painted  a  dull  drab,  but 
the  passing  of  many  feet  had  worn  the  paint 
away  in  places.  A  stove  stood  in  one  corner. 
Over  the  sink  a  tall,  round-shouldered  woman 
bent  trying  to  get  water  from  an  asthmatic 
pump. 

"Oh,  it  's  you,  is  it?"  she  said  in  a  tone  so 
very  unpleasant  that  Pearl  thought  she  must 
have  expected  someone  else. 

"Yes  'm,"  Pearl  said  meekly.  "Who  were 
ye  expectin'?" 


126      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

Mrs.  Motherwell  stopped  pumping  for  a 
minute  and  looked  at  Pearl. 

"Why  didn't  ye  git  here  earlier?"  she 
asked. 

"Well,"  Pearl  began,  "I  was  late  gettin' 
started  by  reason  of  the  washin'  and  the 
ironin',  and  Jimmy  not  gettin'  back  wid  the 
boots.  He  went  drivin'  cattle  for  Vale  the 
butcher,  and  he  had  to  have  the  boots  for  the 
poison  ivy  is  that  bad,  and  because  the  sugar 
o'  lead  is  all  done  and  anyway  ma  don't  like 
to  keep  it  in  the  house,  for  wee  Danny  might 
eat  it  —  he  's  that  stirrin'  and  me  not  there 
to  watch  him  now." 

"Lord!  what  a  tongue  you  have!  Put 
down  your  things  and  go  out  and  pick  up 
chips  to  light  the  fire  with  in  the  morning." 

Pearl  laid  her  bird-cage  on  a  chair  and  was 
back  so  soon  with  the  chips  that  Mrs.  Mother- 
well  could  not  think  of  anything  to  say. 

"Now  go  for  the  cows,"  she  said,  "and 
don't  run  them  home!" 

"Where  will  I  run  them  to  then,  ma'am?" 
Pearl  asked  innocently. 

"Good  land,  child,  have  I  to  tell  you  every- 
thing? Folks  that  can't  do  without  tellin' 


PEARL  WIPES  OUT  THE  STAIN   127 

can't  do  much  with,  I  say.  Bring  the  cows  to 
the  bars,  and  don't  stand  there  staring  at  me." 

When  Pearl  dashed  out  of  the  door,  she 
almost  fell  over  the  old  dog  who  lay  sleepily 
snapping  at  the  flies  which  buzzed  around  his 
head.  He  sprang  up  with  a  growl  which  died 
away  into  an  apologetic  yawn  as  she  stooped 
to  pat  his  honest  brown  head. 

A  group  of  red  calves  stood  at  the  bars  of 
a  small  field  plaintively  calling  for  their 
supper.  It  was  not  just  an  ordinary  bawl, 
but  a  double-jointed  hyphenated  appeal,  indi- 
cating a  very  exhausted  condition  indeed. 

Pearl  looked  at  them  in  pity.  The  old  dog, 
wrinkling  his  nose  and  turning  away  his  head, 
did  not  give  them  a  glance.  He  knew  them. 
Noisy  things!  Let 'em  bawl.  Come  on! 

Across  the  narrow  creek  they  bounded, 
Pearl  and  old  Nap,  and  up  the  other  hill 
where  the  silver  willows  grew  so  tall  they 
were  hidden  in  them.  The  goldenrod  nodded 
its  plumy  head  in  the  breeze,  and  the  tall 
Gaillardia,  brown  and  yellow,  flickered  un- 
steadily on  its  stem. 

The  billows  of  shadow  swept  over  the 
wheat  on  each  side  of  the  narrow  pasture; 


128      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

the  golden  flowers,  the  golden  fields,  the  warm 
golden  sunshine  intoxicated  Pearl  with  their 
luxurious  beauty,  r:nd  in  that  hour  of  delight 
she  realised  more  pleasure  from  them  than 
Sam  Motherwell  and  his  wife  had  in  all  their 
long  lives  of  barren  selfishness.  Their  souls 
were  of  a  dull  drab  dryness  in  which  no 
flower  took  root,  there  was  no  gold  to  them 
but  the  gold  of  greed  and  gain,  and  with  it 
they  had  never  bought  a  smile  or  a  gentle 
hand  pressure  or  a  fervid  "God  bless  you!" 
and  so  it  lost  its  golden  colour,  and  turned  to 
lead  and  ashes  in  their  hands. 

When  Pearl  and  Nap  got  the  cows  turned 
homeward  they  had  to  slacken  their  pace. 

:<  I  don't  care  how  cross  she  is,"  Pearl  said, 
"if  I  can  come  for  the  cows  every  night. 
Look  at  that  fluffy  white  cloud!  Say, 
would  n't  that  make  a  hat  trimming  that 
would  do  your  heart  good.  The  body  of 
the  hat  blue  like  that  up  there,  edged  'round 
with  that  cloud  over  there,  then  a  blue  cape 
with  white  fur  on  it  just  to  match.  I  kin 
just  feel  that  white  stuff  under  my  chin." 

Then  Pearl  began  to  cake-walk  and  sing 
a  song  she  had  heard  Camilla  sing.  She  had 


PEARL  WIPES  OUT  THE  STAIN    129 

forgotten  some  of  the  words,  but  Pearl  never 
was  at  a  loss  for  words : 

The  wild  waves  are  singing  to  the  shore 
As  they  were  in  the  happy  days  of  yore. 

Pearl  could  not  remember  what  the  wild 
waves  were  singing,  so  she  sang  what  was  in 
her  own  heart: 

She  can't  take  the  ripple  from  the  breeze, 
And  she  can't  take  the  rustle  from  the  trees; 
And  when  I  am  out  of  the  old  girl's  sight 
I  can-just-do-as-I-please. 

"That's  right,  I  think  the  same  way  and 
try  to  act  up  to  it,"  a  man's  voice  said  slowly. 
"But  don't  let  her  hear  you  say  so." 

Pearl  started  at  the  sound  of  the  voice  and 
found  herself  looking  into  such  a  good-natured 
face  that  she  laughed  too,  with  a  feeling  of 
good-fellowship. 

The  old  dog  ran  to  the  stranger  with  every 
sign  of  delight  at  seeing  him. 

"  I  am  one  of  the  neighbours,"  he  said.  "  I 
live  over  there"  — pointing  to  a  little  car- 
roofed  shanty  farther  up  the  creek.  "Did 
I  frighten  you?  I  am  sorry  if  I  did,  but 
you  see  I. like  the  sentiment  of  your  song 
so  much  I  could  not  help  telling  you.  You 
need  not  think  it  strange  if  you  find  me 


i3o      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

milking  one  of  the  cows  occasionally.  You 
see,  I  believe  in  dealing  directly  with  the 
manufacturer  and  thus  save  the  middleman's 
profit,  and  so  I  just  take  what  milk  I  need 
from  So-Bossie  over  there." 

"Does  she  know?"  Pearl  asked,  nodding 
toward  the  house. 

"Who?   So-Bossie?" 

"No,  Mrs.  Mother-well." 

"Well,  no,"  he  answered  slowly.  "You 
have  n't  heard  of  her  having  a  fit,  have  you?" 

"No,"  Pearl  answered  wonderingly. 

"  Then  we  're  safe  in  saying  that  the  secret 
has  been  kept  from  her." 

"Does  it  hurt  her,  though?"  Pearl  asked. 

"It  would,  very  much,  if  she  knew  it,"  the 
young  man  replied  gravely. 

"Oh,  I  mean  the  cow,"  Pearl  said  hastily. 

"It  doesn't  hurt  the  cow  a  bit.  What 
does  she  care  who  gets  the  milk?  When  did 
you  come?" 

"To-night,"  Pearl  said.  "I  must  hurry. 
She  11  have  a  rod  in  steep  for  me  if  I  'm  late. 
My  name  's  Pearl  Watson.  What's  yours?" 

"Jim  Russell,"  he  said.  "I  know  your 
brother  Teddy." 


PEARL  WIPES  OUT  THE  STAIN  131 

Pearl  was  speeding  down  the  hill.  She 
shouted  back: 

"I  know  who  you  are  now.  Good-bye!" 
Pearl  ran  to  catch  up  to  the  cows,  for  the  sun 
was  throwing  long  shadows  over  the  pasture, 
and  the  plaintive  lowing  of  the  hungry  calves 
came  faintly  to  her  ears. 

A  blond  young  man  stood  at  the  bars  with 
four  milk  pails. 

He  raised  his  hat  when  he  spoke  to  Pearl. 

"Madam  says  you  are  to  help  me  to  milk, 
but  I  assure  you  it  is  quite  unnecessary. 
Really,  I  would  much  prefer  that  you 
should  n't." 

"Why?"  Pearl  asked  in  wonder. 

"  Oh,  by  Jove !  You  see  it  is  not  a  woman's 
place  to  work  outside  like  this,  don't  you 
know." 

"That's  because  ye'r  English,"  Pearl  said, 
a  sudden  light  breaking  in  on  her.  "Ma 
says  when  ye  git  a  nice  Englishman  there's 
nothing  nicer,  and  pa  knowed  one  once  that 
was  so  polite  he  used  to  say  '  Haw  Buck '  to 
the  ox  and  then  he  'd  say,  '  Oh,  I  beg  yer 
pardon,  I  mean  gee. '  It  was  n't  you,  was 
it?" 


i32      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

"  No,"  he  said  smiling,  "  I  have  never  driven 
oxen,  but  I  have  dene  a  great  many  ridicu- 
lous things  I  am  sure." 

"So  have  I,"  Pearl  said  confidentially,  as 
she  sat  down  on  a  little  three-legged  stool  to 
milk  So-Bossie.  "You  know  them  fluffy 
white  things  all  made  of  lace  and  truck  like 
that,  that  is  hung  over  the  beds  in  rich  people's 
houses,  over  the  pillows,  I  mean?" 

"Pillow-shams?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  that's  them!  Well,  when  I  stayed 
with  Camilla  one  night  at  Mrs.  Francis's 
did  n't  I  think  they  were  things  to  pull  down 
to  keep  the  flies  off  ye  'r  face.  Say,  you  should 
have  heard  Camilla  laugh,  and  ma  saw  a  girl 
at  a  picnic  once  who  drank  lemonade  through 
her  veil,  and  she  et  a  banana,  skin  and  all." 

Pearl  laughed  heartily,  but  the  Englishman 
only  smiled  faintly.  Canadian  ways  were 
growing  stranger  all  the  time. 

' '  Say, ' '  Pearl  began  after  a  pause,  ' '  who  does 
that  cow  over  there  with  the  horns  bent  down 
look  like?  Someone  we  both  know,  only  the 
cow  looks  pleasanter." 

"My  word!"  the  Englishman  exclaimed, 
"you're  a  rum  one." 


PEARL  WIPES  OUT  THE  STAIN    133 

Pearl  looked  disappointed. 

"Animals  often  look  like  people,"  she  said. 
"We  have  two  cows  at  home,  one  looks  like 
Mrs.  White,  so  good  and  gentle,  wouldn't 
say  boo  to  a  goose;  the  other  one  looks  just 
like  Fred  Miller.  He  works  in  the  mill,  and 
his  hair  goes  in  a  roll  on  the  top;  his  mother 
did  it  that  way  with  a  hair-pin  too  long,  I 
guess,  and  now  it  won't  go  any  other  way, 
and  I  know  an  animal  that  looks  like  you; 
he's  a  dandy,  too,  you  bet.  It  is  White's 
dog,  and  he  can  jump  the  fence  easy  as  any- 
thing." 

"Oh,  give  over,  give  over!"  the  Englishman 
said  stiffly. 

Pearl  laughed  delightedly. 

"  It 's  lots  of  fun  guessing  who  people  are 
like,"  she  said.  "I  'm  awful  smart  at  it  and 
so  is  Mary,  four  years  younger  'n  me.  Once 
we  could  not  guess  who  Mrs.  Francis  was  like, 
and  Mary  guessed  it.  Mrs.  Francis  looks  like 
prayer  —  big  bug  eyes  lookin'  away  into 
no  thin',  but  hop  in'  it 's  all  for  the  best.  Do 
you  pray?" 

"  I  am  a  rector's  son,"  he  answered. 

"Oh,    I  know,    minister's  son,  isn't  that 


i34       SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

lovely?  I  bet  you  know  prayers  and  prayers. 
But  it  is  n't  fair  to  pray  in  a  race  is  it?  When 
Jimmy  Moore  and  my  brother  Jimmy  ran 
under  twelve,  Jimmie  Moore  prayed,  and 
some  say  got  his  father  to  pray,  too ;  he 's  the 
Methodist  minister,  you  know,  and,  of  course, 
he  won  it ;  but  our  Jimmy  could  ha'  beat  him 
easy  in  a  fair  race,  and  no  favours;  but  he's 
an  awful  snoopie  kid  and  prays  about  every- 
thing. Do  you  sing?" 

"I  do  —  a  little,"  the  Englishman  said 
modestly. 

"Oh,  my,  I  am  glad,"  Pearl  cried  raptur- 
ously. "When  I  was  two  years  old  I  could 
sing  'Hush  my  babe  lie,'  all  through  —  I 
love  singin'  —  I  can  sing  a  little,  too,  but  I 
don't  care  much  for  my  own.  Have  they 
got  an  organ  here?" 

"I  don't  know,"  he  answered,  "I've  only 
been  in  the  kitchen." 

"  Say,  I  'd  like  to  see  a  melodeon.  Just 
the  very  name  of  it  makes  me  think  of  lovely 
sounds,  religious  sounds,  mountin'  higher 
and  higher  and  swellin'  out  grander  and 
grander,  rollin'  right  into  the  great  white 
throne,  and  shakin'  the  streets  of  gold.  Do 


PEARL  WIPES  OUT  THE  STAIN    135 

you  know  the  'Holy  City,' "  she  asked  after  a 
pause. 

The  Englishman  began  to  hum  it  in  a  rich 
tenor. 

"That 's  it,  you  bet,"  she  cried  delightedly. 
"Just  think  of  you  coming  all  the  way 
across  the  ocean  and  knowing  that  just  the 
same  as  we  do.  I  used  to  listen  at  the  key- 
hole when  Mrs.  Francis  had  company,  and  I 
was  there  helping  Camilla.  Dr.  Clay  sang 
that  lots  of  times." 

The  Englishman  had  not  sung  since  he  had 
left  his  father's  house.  He  began  to  sing 
now,  in  a  sweet,  full  voice,  resonant  on  the 
quiet  evening  air,  the  cows  staring  idly  at 
him.  The  old  dog  came  down  to  the  bars 
with  his  bristles  up,  expecting  trouble. 

Old  Sam  and  his  son  Tom  coming  in  from 
work  stopped  to  listen  to  these  strange  sounds. 

"Confound  them  English!"  old  Sam  said. 
"Ye'd  think  I  was  payin'  him  to  do  that, 
and  it  harvest-time,  too!" 

When  Dr.  Clay,  with  Danny  Watson 
gravely  perched  beside  him,  drove  along  the 
river  road  after  saying  good-bye  to  Pearl, 


136      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

they  met  Miss  Earner,  who  had  been  digging 
ferns  for  Mrs.  McGuire  down  on  the  river  flat. 

The  doctor  drew  in  his  horse. 

"Miss  Earner,"  he  said,  lifting  his  hat,  "if 
Daniel  Mulcahey  Watson  and  I  should  ask  you 
to  come  for  a  drive  with  us,  I  wonder  what 
you  would  say?" 

Miss  Earner  considered  for  a  moment  and 
then  said,  smiling : 

"I  think  I  would  say,  'Thank  you  very 
much,  Mr.  Watson  and  Dr.  Clay,  I  shall  be 
delighted  to  come  if  you  have  room  for  me.' " 

Life  had  been  easier  for  Mary  Earner  since 
Dr.  Clay  had  come  to  Millford.  It  was  no 
longer  necessary  for  her  to  compel  her  father 
to  go  when  he  was  sent  for,  and  when  patients 
came  to  the  office,  if  she  thought  her  father 
did  not  know  what  he  was  doing,  she  got 
Dr.  Clay  to  check  over  the  prescriptions. 

It  had  been  rather  hard  for  !,lary  to  ask 
him  to  do  this,  for  she  had  a  fair  share  of  her 
father's  Scotch  pride;  but  she  had  done  too 
many  hard  things  in  her  life  to  hesitate  now. 
The  young  doctor  was  genuinely  glad  to 
serve  her,  and  he  made  her  feel  that  she  was 
conferring,  instead  of  asking,  a  favour. 


PEARL  WIPES  OUT  THE  STAIN    137 

They  drove  along  the  high  bank  that  fell 
perpendicularly  to  the  river  below  and  looked 
down  at  the  harvest  scene  that  lay  beneath 
them.  The  air  was  full  of  the  perfume  of 
many  flowers  and  the  chatter  of  birds. 

The  Reverend  Hugh  Grantley  drove  swiftly 
by  them,  whereupon  Danny  made  his  presence 
known  for  the  first  time  by  the  apparently 
irrelevant  remark: 

"I  know  who  Miss  Earner's  fellow  is! 
so  I  do." 

Now  if  Dr.  Clay  had  given  Danny  even 
slight  encouragement,  he  would  have  pur- 
sued the  subject,  and  that  might  have  saved 
complications  in  the  days  to  come. 


CHAPTER  XII 

FROM  CAMILLA'S  DIARY 

IT  IS  nearly  six  months  since  I  came  to  live 
with  Mrs.  Francis,  and  I  like  housework  so 
well  and  am  so  happy  at  it,  that  it  shows  clearly 
that  I  am  not  a  disguised  heiress.  My  proud  spirit 
does  not  chafe  a  bit  at  having  to  serve  meals  and 
wear  a  cap  (you  should  see  how  sweet  I  look  in  a  cap). 
I  have  n't  got  the  fear  on  my  heart  all  day  that  I 
will  make  a  mistake  in  a  figure  that  will  rise  up  and 
condemn  me  at  the  end  of  the  month  as  I  used  to  be 
when  I  was  book-keeping  on  a  high  stool,  for  the 
Western  Hail  and  Fire  Insurance  Company  (peace 
toitsashes!).  "All  work  is  expression,"  FraElbertus 
says,  so  why  may  I  not  express  myself  in  blueberry 
pie  and  tomato  soup? 

Mrs  Francis  is  an  appreciative  mistress,  and  she 
is  not  so  entirely  wrapped  up  in  Browning  as  to 
be  insensible  to  a  good  salad  either,  I  am  glad 
to  say. 

One  night  after  we  had  company  and  everything 

had  gone  off  well,  Mr.   Francis  came  out  into  the 

kitchen,   and  looked   over  his   glasses   at  me.     He 

opened  his  mouth  twice  to  speak,  but  seemed  to 

138 


FROM  CAMILLA'S  DIARY         139 

change  his  mind  I  knew  what  was  struggling  for 
utterance.  Then  he  laid  fifty  cents  on  the  window 
sill,  pointed  at  it,  nodded  to  me,  and  went  out  hur- 
riedly. My  first  impulse  was  to  hand  it  back — then 
I  thought  better  of  it — words  do  not  come  easily 
to  him.  So  he  expressed  himself  in  currency.  I 
put  the  money  into  my  purse  for  a  luck  penny. 

Mrs.  Francis  is  as  serene  as  a  summer  sea,  and 
can  look  at  you  without  knowing  you  are  there. 
Mr.  Francis  is  a  peaceful  man,  too.  He  looks  at  his 
wife  in  a  helpless  way  when  she  begins  to  explain  the 
difference  between  the  Elizabethan  and  the  Victorian 
poets — I  don't  believe  he  cares  a  cent  for  either  of 
them. 

Mrs.  Francis  entertains  quite  a  bit;  I  like  it, 
too,  and  I  do  not  go  and  cry  into  the  sink  because 
I  have  to  wait  on  the  guests.  She  entertains  well 
and  is  a  delightful  hostess,  but  some  of  the  people 
whom  she  entertains  do  not  appreciate  her  flights 
of  fancy. 

I  do  not  like  to  see  them  wink  at  each  other, 
although  I  know  it  is  funny  to  hear  Mrs.  Francis 
elaborate  on  the  mother's  influence  in  the  home  and 
the  proper  way  to  deal  with  selfishness  in  children; 
but  she  means  well,  and  they  should  remember  that, 
no  matter  how  funny  she  gets. 

April  i&th. — She  gave  me  a  surprise  to-day. 
She  called  me  upstairs  and  read  to  me  a  paper  she 
was  preparing  to  read  before  some  society — she 
belongs  to  three  or  four — on  the  domestic  help  prob- 


i4o      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

lem.  Well,  it  hadn't  very  much  to  do  with  the 
domestic  help  problem,  but  of  course  I  could  not  tell 
her  that  so  when  she  asked  me  what  I  thought  of  it 
I  said: 

"If  all  employers  were  as  kind  as  you  and  Mr. 
Francis  there  would  be  no  domestic  help  problem." 

She  looked  at  me  suddenly,  and  something 
seemed  to  strike  her.  I  believe  it  came  to  her  that 
I  was  a  creature  of  like  passions  with  herself,  capable 
of  gratitude,  perhaps  in  need  of  encouragement. 
Hitherto  I  think  she  has  regarded  me  as  a  porridge 
and  coffee  machine. 

She  put  her  arm  around  me  and  kissed  me. 

"Camilla,"  she  said  gently — she  has  the  softest, 
dreamiest  voice  I  ever  heard — "I  believe  in  the  aris- 
tocracy of  brains  and  virtue.  You  have  both." 

Farewell,  oh  Soulless  Corporation!  A  long,  last, 
lingering  farewell,  for  Camilla  E.  Rose,  who  used 
to  sit  upon  the  high  stool  and  add  figures  for  you  at 
ten  dollars  a  week,  is  far  away  making  toast  for  two 
kindly  souls,  one  of  whom  tells  her  she  has  brains 
and  virtue  and  the  other  one  opens  his  mouth  to 
speak,  and  then  pushes  fifty  cents  at  her  instead. 

Danny  Watson,  bless  his  little  heart!  is  bringing 
madam  up.  He  has  wound  himself  into  her  heart 
and  the  "why ness  of  the  what"  is  packing  up  to  go. 

May  ist. — Mrs.  Francis  is  going  silly  over 
Danny  A  few  days  ago  she  asked  me  if  I  could 
cut  a  pattern  for  a  pair  of  pants  I  told  her  I  had 
made  pants  once  or  twice  and  meekly  inquired  whom 


FROM  CAMILLA'S  DIARY         141 

she  wanted  the  pants  for.  She  said  for  a  boy,  of 
course — and  she  looked  at  me  rather  severely.  I 
knew  they  must  be  for  Danny,  and  cut  the  pattern 
about  the  size  for  him.  She  went  into  the  sewing- 
room,  and  I  only  saw  her  at  meal  times  for  two  days. 
She  wrestled  with  the  garment. 

Last  night  she  asked  me  if  I  would  take  a  parcel 
to  Danny  with  her  love.  I  was  glad  to  go,  for  I 
was  just  dying  to  see  how  she  had  got  along. 

When  I  held  them  up  before  Mrs.  Watson  the 
poor  woman  gasped. 

"Save  us  all!"  she  cried.  "  Them  '11  fit  none  of  us. 
"We  're  poor,  but,  thank  God,  we  're  not  deformed!" 

I  '11  never  forget  the  look  of  those  pants.  They 
haunt  me  still. 

May  i$th. — Pearl  Watson  is  the  sweetest  and 
best  little  girl  I  know.  Her  gratitude  for  even  the 
smallest  kindness  makes  me  want  to  cry.  She  told 
me  the  other  day  she  was  sure  Danny  was  going  to 
be  a  doctor.  She  bases  her  hopes  on  the  questions 
that  Danny  asks.  How  do  you  know  you  have  n't 
got  a  gizzard?  How  would  you  like  to  be  ripped 
clean  up  the  back?  and  Where  does  your  lap  go 
to  when  you  stand  up?  She  said,  "Ma  and  us  all 
have  hopes  o'  Danny." 

Mrs.  Francis  has  a  new  r61e,  that  of  match- 
maker, though  I  don't  suppose  she  knows  it.  She 
had  Mary  Earner  and  the  young  minister  for  tea  to- 
night. Mary  grows  dearer  and  sweeter  every  day. 
People  say  it  is  not  often  one  girl  praises  another; 


i42      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

but  Mary  is  a  dear  little  gray-eyed  saint  with  the 
most  shapely  hands  I  ever  saw.  Reverend  Hugh 
thinks  so,  too,  I  have  no  doubt.  It  was  really  too 
bad  to  waste  a  good  fruit  salad  on  him  though, 
for  I  know  he  did  n't  know  what  he  was  eating. 
Excelsior  would  taste  like  ambrosia  to  him  if  Mary 
sat  opposite — all  of  which  is  very  much  as  'it  should 
be,  I  know.  I  thought  for  a  while  Mary  liked  Dr. 
Clay  pretty  well,  but  I  know  it  is  not  serious,  for  she 
talks  quite  freely  of  him.  She  is  very  grateful  to 
him  for  helping  her  so  often  with  her  father.  But 
those  gray-eyed  Scotch  people  never  talk  of  what  is 
nearest  the  heart.  So  I  think  the  minister  has  the 
best  chance.  I  wonder  if  he  knows  that  Mary  Earner 
is  a  queen  among  women.  I  don't  like  Scotchmen. 
They  take  too  much  for  granted. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE    FIFTH   SON 

ARTHUR  WEMYSS,  fifth  son  of  the 
Reverend  Alfred  Austin  Wemyss,  Rec- 
tor of  St.  Agnes,  Tilbury  Road,  County  of 
Kent,  England,  had  but  recently  crossed  the 
ocean.  He  and  six  hundred  other  fifth  sons 
of  rectors  and  earls  and  dukes  had  crossed  the 
ocean  in  the  same  ship  and  had  been  scattered 
abroad  over  Manitoba  and  the  Northwest 
Territories  to  be  instructed  in  agricultural 
pursuits  by  the  honest  granger,  and  inci- 
dentally to  furnish  nutriment  for  the  ever- 
ready  mosquito  or  wasp,  who  regarded  all 
Old  Country  men  as  their  lawful  meat. 

The  honest  granger  was  paid  a  sum  varying 
between  fifty  and  one  hundred  and  fifty  dol- 
lars for  instructing  one  of  these  young  fellows 
in  farming  for  one  year,  and  although  having 
an  Englishman  was  known  to  be  a  pretty 
good  investment,  the  farmers  usually  spoke 
143 


144      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

of  them  as  they  would  of  the  French-weed  or 
the  rust  in  the  wheat.  Sam  Motherwell  re- 
ferred to  his  quite  often  as  "that  blamed 
Englishman"  and  often  said,  unjustly,  that 
he  was  losing  money  on  him  every  day. 

Arthur  —  the  Motherwells  could  not  have 
told  his  other  name  —  had  learned  some- 
thing since  he  came.  He  could  pull  pig-weed 
for  the  pigs  and  throw  it  into  the  pen;  he  had 
learned  to  detect  French-weed  in  the  grain; 
he  could  milk;  he  could  turn  the  cream- 
separator;  he  could  wash  dishes  and  churn, 
and  he  did  it  all  with  a  willingness,  a  cheer- 
fulness that  would  have  appealed  favourably  to 
almost  any  other  farmer  in  the  neighbourhood, 
but  the  lines  had  fallen  to  Arthur  in  a  stony 
place,  and  his  employer  did  not  notice  him  at 
all  unless  to  find  fault  with  him.  Yet  he 
bore  it  all  with  good  humour.  He  had  come 
to  Canada  to  learn  to  farm. 

The  only  real  grievance  he  had  was  that 
he  could  not  get  his  "tub."  The  night  he 
arrived,  dusty  and  travel-stained  after  his 
long  journey,  he  had  asked  for  his  "tub,"  but 
Mr.  Motherwell  had  told  him  in  language  he 
had  never  heard  before  —  that  there  was  no 


THE  FIFTH  SON  145 

tub  of  his  around  the  establishment,  that  he 
knew  of,  and  that  he  could  go  down  and  have 
a  dip  in  the  river  on  Sunday  if  he  wanted 
to.  Then  he  had  conducted  him  with  the 
lantern  to  his  bed  in  the  loft  of  the  granary. 

A  rickety  ladder  led  up  to  the  bed,  which 
was  upon  a  temporary  floor  laid  about  half 
way  across  the  width  of  the  granary.  Bags 
of  musty  smelling  wheat  stood  at  one  end  of 
this  little  room.  Evidently  Mr.  Motherwell 
wished  to  discourage  sleep-walking  in  his 
hired  help,  for  the  floor  ended  abruptly  and 
a  careless  somnambulist  would  be  precipitated 
on  the  old  fanning  mill,  harrow  teeth  and 
other  debris  which  littered  the  floor  below. 

The  young  Englishman  reeled  unsteadily 
going  up  the  ladder.  He  could  still  feel  the 
chug  -  chug  -  chug  of  the  ocean  liner's  en- 
gines and  had  to  hold  tight  to  the  ladder's 
splintered  rungs  to  preserve  his  equilibrium. 

Mr.  Motherwell  raised  the  lantern  with 
sudden  interest. 

"Say,"  he  said,  more  cheerfully  than  he 
had  yet  spoken,  ''you  have  n't  been  drinking, 
have  you?" 

"Intoxicants,  do  you  mean?"  the  English- 


i46       SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

man  asked,  without  turning  around.  "No, 
I  do  not  drink." 

"You  didn't  happen  to  bring  anything 
over  with  you,  did  you,  for  seasickness  on 
the  boat?"  Mr.  Motherwell  queried  anxiously, 
holding  the  lantern  above  his  head. 

"No,  I  did  not,"  the  young  man  said 
laconically. 

"Turn  out  at  five  to-morrow  morning 
then,"  his  employer  snapped  in  evident  dis- 
appointment, and  he  lowered  the  lantern  so 
quickly  that  it  went  out. 

The  young  man  lay  down  upon  his  hard 
bed.  His  utter  weariness  was  a  blessing  to 
him  that  night,  for  not  even  the  racing  mice, 
the  musty  smells  or  the  hardness  of  his  straw 
bed  could  keep  him  from  slumber. 

In  what  seemed  to  him  but  a  few  minutes, 
he  was  awakened  by  a  loud  knocking  on  the 
door  below,  voices  shouted,  a  dog  barked, 
cow-bells  jangled;  he  could  hear  doors  bang- 
ing everywhere,  a  faint  streak  of  sunlight  lay 
wan  and  pale  on  the  mud-plastered  walls. 

"By  Jove!"  he  said  yawning,  "I  know  now 
what  Kipling  meant  when  he  said  '  the  dawn 
comes  up  like  thunder. ' " 


THE  FIFTH  SON  147 

A  few  weeks  after  Arthur's  arrival,  Mrs. 
Motherwell  called  him  from  the  barn,  where 
he  sat  industriously  mending  bags,  to  un- 
hitch her  horse  from  the  buggy.  She  had 
just  driven  home  from  Millford.  Nobody 
had  taken  the  trouble  to  show  Arthur  how  it 
was  done. 

"Any  fool  ought  to  know,"  Mr.  Mother- 
well  said. 

Arthur  came  running  from  the  barn  with 
his  hat  in  his  hand.  He  grasped  the  horse 
firmly  by  the  bridle  and  led  him  toward  the 
barn.  As  they  came  near  the  water  trough 
the  horse  began  to  show  signs  of  thirst. 
Arthur  led  him  to  the  trough,  but  the  horse 
tossed  his  head  and  was  unable  to  get  it  near 
the  water  on  account  of  the  check. 

Arthur  watched  him  a  few  moments  with 
gathering  perplexity. 

"I  can't  lift  this  water  vessel,"  he  said, 
looking  at  the  horse  reproachfully.  "  It 's  too 
heavy,  don  't  you  know.  Hold!  I  have  it," 
he  cried  with  exultation  beaming  in  his  face; 
and  making  a  dash  for  the  horse  he  unfastened 
the  crupper. 

But  the  exultation  soon  died  from  his  face, 


148       SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

for  the  horse  still  tossed  his  head  in  the  vain 
endeavour  to  reach  the  water. 

"My  word!"  he  said,  wrinkling  his  fore- 
head, "I  believe  I  shall  have  to  lift  the 
water-vessel  yet,  though  it  is  hardly  fit  to 
lift,  it  is  so  wet  and  nasty."  Arthur  spoke 
with  a  deliciously  soft  Kentish  accent,  guilt- 
less of  r's  and  with  a  softening  of  the  h's  that 
was  irresistible. 

A  light  broke  over  his  face  again.  He 
went  behind  the  buggy  and  lifted  the  hind 
wheels.  While  he  was  holding  up  the  wheels 
and  craning  his  neck  around  the  back  of  the 
buggy  to  see  if  his  efforts  were  successful, 
Jim  Russell  came  into  the  yard,  riding  his 
dun-coloured  pony  Chiniquy. 

He  stood  still  in  astonishment.  Then  the 
meaning  of  it  came  to  him  and  he  rolled 
off  Chiniquy's  back,  shaking  with  silent 
laughter. 

"Come,  come,  Arthur,"  he  said  as  soon  as 
he  could  speak.  "Stop  trying  to  see  how 
strong  you  are.  Don  't  you  see  the  horse 
wants  a  drink?" 

With  a  perfectly  serious  face  Jim  unfast- 
ened the  check,  whereupon  the  horse's  head 


THE  FIFTH  SON  149 

was  lowered  at  once,  and  he  drank  in  long 
gulps  the  water  that  had  so  long  mocked  him 
with  its  nearness. 

"Oh,  thank  you,  Mr.  Russell,"  the  English- 
man cried  delightedly.  "Thanks  awfully,  it 
is  monstrously  clever  of  you  to  know  how  to 
do  everything.  I  wish  I  could  go  and  live 
with  you.  I  believe  I  could  learn  to  farm  if 
I  were  with  you." 

Jim  looked  at  his  eager  face  so  cruelly 
bitten  by  mosquitoes. 

"I'll  tell  you,  Arthur,"  he  said  smiling, 
"  I  have  n't  any  need  for  a  man  to  work,  but 
I  suppose  I  might  hire  you  to  keep  the  mos- 
quitoes off  the  horses.  They  wouldn't  look 
at  Chiniquy,  I  am  sure,  if  they  could  get  a  nip 
at  you." 

The  Englishman  looked  perplexed. 

"You  are  learning  as  well  as  any  person 
could  learn,"  Jim  said  kindly.  "I  think  you 
are  doing  famously.  No  person  is  particu- 
larly bright  at  work  entirely  new.  Don't 
be  a  bit  discouraged,  old  man,  you  '11  be  a 
rich  land-owner  some  day,  proprietor  of  the 
A.  J.  Wemyss  Stock  Farm,  writing  letters  to 
the  agricultural  papers,  judge  of  horses  at 


1 50      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

the  fairs,  giving  lectures  at  dairy  institutes  — 
oh,  I  think  I  see  you,  Arthur!" 

"  You  are  chaffing  me,"  Arthur  said  smiling. 

"Indeed  I  am  not.  I  am  very  much  in 
earnest.  I  have  seen  more  unlikely  looking 
young  fellows  than  you  do  wonderful  things 
in  a  short  time,  and  just  to  help  along  the 
good  work  I  am  going  to  show  you  a  few  things 
about  taking  off  harness  that  may  be  useful 
to  you  when  you  are  president  of  the  Agri- 
cultural Society  of  South  Cypress,  or  some 
other  fortunate  municipality." 

Arthur's  face  brightened. 

"Oh,  thank  you,  Mr.  Russell,"  he  said. 

That  night  Arthur  wrote  home  a  letter  that 
would  have  made  an  appropriate  circular  for 
the  Immigration  Department  to  send  to  pros- 
pective settlers. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE    FAITH    THAT    MOVETH    MOUNTAINS 

WHEN  supper  was  over  and  Pearl  had 
washed  the  heavy  white  dishes  Mrs. 
Motherwell  told  her,  not  unkindly,  that  she 
could  go  to  bed.  She  would  sleep  in  the 
little  room  over  the  kitchen  in  Polly's  old 
bed. 

"You  don't  need  no  lamp,"  she  said,  "if 
you  hurry.  It  is  light  up  there." 

Mrs.  Motherwell  was  inclined  to  think  well 
of  Pearl.  It  was  not  her  soft  brown  eyes,  or 
her  quaint  speech  that  had  won  Mrs.  Mother- 
well's  heart.  It  was  the  way  she  scraped  the 
frying-pan. 

Pearl  went  up  the  ladder  into  the  kitchen 
loft,  and  found  herself  in  a  low,  long  room, 
close  and  stifling,  one  little  window  shone 
light  against  the  western  sky  and  on  it  in- 
numerable flies  buzzed  unceasingly.  Old 
boxes,  old  bags,  old  baskets  looked  strange 


152      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

and  shadowy  in  the  gathering  gloom.  The 
Motherwells  did  not  believe  in  giving  away 
anything.  The  Indians  who  went  through 
the  neighbourhood  each  fall  looking  for  "old 
clo"'  had  long  ago  learned  to  pass  by  the 
big  stone  house.  Indians  do  not  appreciate 
a  strong  talk  on  shiftlessness  the  way  they 
should,  with  a  vision  of  a  long  cold  winter 
ahead  of  them. 

Pearl  gazed  around  with  a  troubled  look  on 
her  face.  A  large  basket  of  old  carpet  rags 
stood  near  the  little  bed.  She  dragged  it 
into  the  farthest  corner.  She  tried  to  open 
the  window,  but  it  was  nailed  fast. 

Then  a  determined  look  shone  in  her  eyes. 
She  went  quickly  down  the  little  ladder. 

"Please  ma'am,"  she  said  going  over  to 
Mrs.  Motherwell,  "I  can't  sleep  up  there. 
It  is  full  of  diseases  and  microscopes." 

"It's  what?"  Mrs.  Motherwell  almost 
screamed.  She  was  in  the  pantry  making 
pies. 

"It  has  old  air  in  it,"  Pearl  said,  "and  it 
will  give  me  the  fever." 

Mrs.  Motherwell  glared  at  the  little  girl. 
She  forgot  all  about  the  frying-pan. 


FAITH  MOVETH  MOUNTAINS     153 

"Good  gracious!"  she  said.  "It's  a  queer 
thing  if  hired  help  are  going  to  dictate  where 
they  are  going  to  sleep.  Maybe  you'd  like 
a  bed  set  up  for  you  in  the  parlour!" 

"Not  if  the  windies  ain't  open,"  Pearl  de- 
clared stoutly. 

"Well  they  ain't;  there  hasn't  been  a 
window  open  in  this  house  since  it  was  built, 
and  there  isn't  going  to  be,  letting  in  dust 
and  flies." 

Pearl  gasped.  What  would  Mrs.  Francis 
say  to  that? 

"It's  in  yer  graves  ye  ought  to  be  then, 
ma'am,"  she  said  with  honest  conviction. 
"Mrs.  Francis  told  me  never  to  sleep  in  a 
room  with  the  windies  all  down,  and  I  as 
good  as  promised  I  wouldn't.  Can't  we 
open  that  wee  windy,  ma'am?" 

Mrs.  Motherwell  was  tired,  unutterably 
tired,  not  with  that  day's  work  alone,  but 
with  the  days  and  years  that  had  passed 
away  in  gray  dreariness;  the  past  barren  and 
bleak,  the  future  bringing  only  visions  of 
heavier  burdens.  She  was  tired  and  perhaps 
that  is  why  she  became  angry. 

"You  go  straight  to  your  bed,"  she  said, 


i54      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

with  her  mouth  hard  and  her  eyes  glinting 
like  cold  flint,  "and  none  of  your  nonsense, 
or  you  can  go  str^^it  back  to  town." 

When  Pearl  again  reached  the  little  stifling 
room,  she  fell  on  her  knees  and  prayed. 

"Dear  God,"  she  said,  "there's  gurms 
here  as  thick  as  hair  on  a  dog's  back,  and 
You  and  me  know  it,  even  if  she  don't.  I 
don't  know  what  to  do,  dear  Lord  —  the 
windy  is  nelt  down.  Keep  the  gurms  from 
gittin'  into  me,  dear  Lord.  Do  ye  mind 
how  poor  Jeremiah  was  let  down  into  the 
mire  and  ye  tuk  care  o'  him,  did  n't  ye?  Take 
care  o'  me,  dear  Lord.  Poor  ma  has  enough 
to  do  widout  me  comin'  home  clutterin'  up 
the  house  wid  sickness.  Keep  yer  eye  on 
Danny  if  ye  can  at  all,  at  all.  He's  awful 
stirrin'.  I  '11  try  to  git  the  windy  riz  to- 
morrow by  hook  or  crook,  so  mebbe  it  's  only 
to-night  'ye  '11  have  to  watch  the  ,gurms. 
Amen." 

Pearl  braided  her  hair  into  two  little  pig- 
tails, with  her  little  dilapidated  comb.  When 
she  brought  out  the  contents  of  the  bird-cage 
and  opened  it  in  search  of  her  night-dress, 
the  orange  rolled  out,  almost  frightening 


FAITH  MOVETH  MOUNTAINS     155 

her.  The  purse,  too,  rattled  on  the  bare  floor 
as  it  fell. 

She  picked  it  up,  and  by  going  close  to  the 
fly-specked  window  she  counted  the  ten 
ten-cent  pieces,  a  whole  dollar.  Never  was  a 
little  girl  more  happy. 

"It  was  Camilla,"  she  whispered  to  herself. 
"Oh,  I  love  Camilla!  and  I  never  said  'God 
bless  Camilla,"' — with  a  sudden  pang  of  re- 
morse. 

She  was  on  her  knees  in  a  moment  and 
added  the  postscript. 

"  I  can  send  the  orange  home  to  ma,  and 
she  can  put  the  skins  in  the  chist  to  make  the 
things  smell  nice,  and  I  '11  git  that  windy 
open  to-morrow." 

Clasping  her  little  purse  in  her  hand,  and 
with  the  orange  close  beside  her  head,  she 
lay  down  to  sleep.  The  smell  of  the  orange 
made  her  forget  the  heavy  air  in  the  room. 

"Anyway,"  she  murmured  'contentedly, 
"the  Lord  is  attendin'  to  all  that." 

Pearl  slept  the  heavy  sleep  of  healthy 
childhood  and  woke  in  the  gray  dawn  before 
anyone  else  in  the  household  was  stirring. 
She  threw  on  some  clothing  and  went  down 


156       SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

the  ladder  into  the  kitchen.  She  started  the 
fire,  secured  the  basin  full  of  water  and  a 
piece  of  yellow  soap  and  came  back  to  her 
room  for  her  "  Oliver." 

"  I  can 't  lave  it  all  to  the  Lord  to  do,"  she 
said,  as  she  rubbed  the  soap  on  her  little 
wash-rag.  "It  doesn't  do  to  impose  on 
good  nature." 

When  Tom,  the  only  son  of  the  Motherwells, 
came  down  to  light  the  fire,  he  found  Pearl 
setting  the  table,  the  kitchen  swept  and  the 
kettle  boiling. 

Pearl  looked  at  him  with  her  friendly  Irish 
smile,  which  he  returned  awkwardly. 

He  was  a  tall,  stoop-shouldered,  rather 
good-looking  lad  of  twenty.  He  had  heavy 
gray  eyes,  and  a  drooping  mouth. 

Tom  had  gone  to  school  a  few  winters 
when  there  was  not  much  doing,  but  his 
father  thought  it  was  a  great  deal  better  for  a 
boy  to  learn  to  handle  horses  and  "sample 
wheat,"  and  run  a  binder,  than  learn  the 
"  pack  of  nonsense  they  got  in  school  nowa- 
days," and  when  the  pretty  little  teacher 
from  the  eastern  township  came  to  Southfield 
school,  Mrs.  Motherwell  knew  at  one  glance 


FAITH  MOVETH  MOUNTAINS     157 

that  Tom  would  learn  no  good  from  her  — 
she  was  such  a  nighty  looking  thing !  '  Flow- 
ers on  the  under  side  of  her  hat ! 

So  poor  Tom  grew  up  a  clod  of  the  valley. 
Yet  Mrs.  Motherwell  would  tell  you,  "Our 
Tom  '11  be  the  richest  man  in  these  parts. 
He  '11  get  every  cent  we  have  and  all  the  land, 
too ;  and  I  guess  there  won  't  be  many  that 
can  afford  to  turn  up  their  noses  at  our  Tom. 
And,  mind  ye,  Tom  can  tell  a  horse  as  well 
as  the  next  one,  and  he  's  a  boy  that  won't 
waste  nothin',  not  like  some  we  know.  Look 
at  them  Slaters  now!  Fred  and  George 
have  been  off  to  college  two  years,  big  over- 
grown hulks  they  are,  and  young  Peter  is 
going  to  the  Agricultural  College  in  Guelph 
this  winter,  and  the  old  man  will  hire  a  man 
to  take  care  of  the  stock,  and  him  with  three 
boys  of  his  own.  Just  as  if  a  boy  can  learn 
about  farmin'  at  a  college !  and  the  way  them 
girls  dress,  and  the  old  lady,  too,  and  her  not 
able  to  speak  above  a  whisper.  The  old 
lady  wears  an  ostrich  feather  in  her  bonnet, 
and  they're  a  terrible  costly  thing,  I  hear. 
Mind  you  they  only  keep  six  cows,  and  they 
send  every  drop  they  don't  use  to  the  cream- 


158      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

ery.  Everybody  can  do  as  they  like,  I  sup- 
pose, but  I  know  they  11  go  to  the  wall,  and 
they  deserve  it  too!" 

And  yet! 

She  and  Mrs.  Slater  had  been  girls  together 
and  sat  in  school  with  arms  entwined  and 
wove  romances  of  the  future,  rosy-hued  and 
golden.  When  they  consulted  the  oracle  of 
"Tinker,  tailor,  soldier,  sailor,  rich  man, 
poor  man,  beggar  man,  thief,"  the  buttons 
on  her  gray  winsey  dress  had  declared  in 
favour  of  the  "rich  man."  Then  she  had 
dreamed  dreams  of  silks  and  satins  and 
prancing  steeds  and  liveried  servants,  and 
ease,  and  happiness  —  dreams  which  God  in 
His  mercy  had  let  her  forget  long,  long  ago. 

When  she  had  become  the  mistress  of  the 
big  stone  house,  she  had  struggled  hard 
against  her  husband's  penuriousness,  defi- 
antly sometimes,  and  sometimes  tearfully. 
But  he  had  held  her  down  with  a  heavy  hand 
of  unyielding  determination.  At  last  she 
grew  weary  of  struggling,  and  settled  down 
in  sullen  submission,  a  hopeless  heavy-eyed, 
spiritless  woman,  and  as  time  went  by  she 
became  greedier  for  money  than  her  husband. 


FAITH  MOVETH  MOUNTAINS     159 

"  Good-morning, ' '  Pearl  said  brightly.  ' '  Are 
you  Mr.  Tom  Motherwell?" 

"That's  what!"  Tom  replied.  "Only  you 
needn't  mind  the  handle." 

Pearl  laughed. 

"All  right,"  she  said.  "I  want  a  little 
favor  done.  Will  you  open  the  window 
upstairs  for  me?" 

"Why?"  Tom  asked,  staring  at  her. 

"To  let  in  good  air.  It's  awful  close  up 
there,  and  I'm  afraid  I'll  get  the  fever  or 
somethin'  bad." 

"  Polly  got  it,"  Tom  said.  " Maybe  that  is 
why  Polly  got  it.  She  's  awful  sick  now. 
Ma  says  she  '11  like  as  not  die.  But  I  don't 
believe  ma  will  let  me  open  it." 

"Where  is  Polly?"  Pearl  asked  eagerly. 
She  had  forgotten  her  own  worries.  "Who 
is  Polly?  Did  she  live  here?" 

"She's  in  the  hospital  now  in  Brandon," 
Tom  said  in  answer  to  her  rapid  questions. 
"She  planted  them  poppies  out  there,  but 
she  never  seen  the  flowers  on  them.  Ma 
wanted  me  to  cut  them  down,  for  Polly  used 
to  put  off  so  much  time  with  them,  but  I 
did  n't  want  to.  Ma  was  mad,  too,  you  bet," 


160      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

he  said,  with  a  reminiscent  smile  at  his  own 
foolhardiness. 

Pearl  was  thinking  —  she  could  see  the 
poppies  through  the  window,  bright  and 
glowing  in  the  morning  light.  They  rocked 
lightly  in  the  wind,  and  a  shower  of  crimson 
petals  fell.  Poor  Polly!  she  had  n't  seen  them. 

"What  's  Polly's  other  name?"  she  asked 
quickly. 

"Polly  Bragg,"  he  answered.  "She  was 
awful  nice,  Polly  was,  and  jolly,  too.  Ma 
thought  she  was  lazy.  She  used  to  cry  a  lot 
and  wish  she  could  go  home;  but  my!  she 
could  sing  fine." 

Pearl  went  on  with  her  work  with  a  pre- 
occupied air. 

"Tom,  can  you  take  a  parcel  for  me  to 
town  to-day?" 

"I  am  not  goin',"  he  said  in  surprise.  "Pa 
always  goes  if  we  need  anything.  I  have  n't 
been  in  town  for  a  month." 

"Don't  you  go  to  church?"  Pearl  asked  in 
surprise. 

"No,  you  bet  I  don't,  not  now.  The 
preacher  was  sassy  to  pa  and  tried  to  get 
money.  Pa  says  he'll  never  touch  wood  in 


FAITH  MOVETH  MOUNTAINS     161 

his  church  again,  and  pa  won't  give  another 
cent  either,  and,  mind  you,  last  year  we 
gave  twenty-five  dollars." 

"We  paid  fourteen  dollars,"  Pearl  said, 
"and  Mary  got  six  dollars  on  her  card." 

"Oh,  but  you  town  people  don't  have  the 
expenses  we  have." 

"That's  true,  I  guess,"  Pearl  said  doubt- 
fully —  she  was  wondering  about  the  boot 
bills.  "Pa  gets  a  dollar  and  a  quarter  every 
day,  and  ma  gets  seventy-five  cents  when 
she  washes.  We're  gettin'  on  fine." 

Then  Mrs.  Motherwell  made  her  appear- 
ance, and  the  conversation  came  to  an  end. 

That  afternoon  when  Pearl  had  washed  the 
dishes  and  scrubbed  the  floor,  she  went  up- 
stairs to  the  little  room  to  write  in  her  diary. 
She  knew  Mrs.  Francis  would  expect  to  see 
something  in  it,  so  she  wrote  laboriously: 

I  saw  a  lot  of  yalla  flowers  and  black-burds. 
The  rode  was  full  of  dust  and  wagging  marks.  I  met 
a  man  with  a  top  buggy  and  smelt  a  skunk.  Mrs. 
M.  made  a  kake  to-day — there  was  no  lickens. 

I  'm  goin'  to  tidy  up  the  granary  for  Arthur. 
He's  off  el  nice — an 'told  me  about  London  Bridge — it 
has  n't  fallen  down  at  all,  he  says,  that 's  just  a  song. 

All  day  long  the  air  had  been  heavy  and 


i62       SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

close,  and  that  night  while  Pearl  was  asleep 
the  face  of  the  heavens  was  darkened  with 
storm-clouds.  Great  rolling  masses  came  up 
from  the  west,  shot  through  with  flashes 
of  lightning,  and  the  heavy  silence  was  more 
ominous  than  the  loudest  thunder  would 
have  been.  The  wind  began  in  the  hills, 
gusty  and  fitful  at  first,  then  bursting  with 
violence  over  the  plain  below.  There  was  a 
cutting  whine  in  it,  like  the  whang  of  stretched 
steel,  fateful,  deadly  as  the  singing  of  bullets, 
chilling  the  farmer's  heart,  for  he  knows  it 
means  hail. 

Pearl  woke  and  sat  up  in  bed.  The  light- 
ning flashed  in  the  little  window,  leaving  the 
room  as  black  as  ink.  She  listened  to  the 
whistling  wind. 

"It's  the  hail,"  she  whispered  delightedly. 
"I  knew  the  Lord  would  find  a  way  to  open 
the  windy  without  me  puttin'  my  fist  through 
it  —  I  '11  have  a  look  at  the  clouds  to  see  if 
they  have  that  white  edge  on  them.  No  — 
I  won't  either  —  it  is  n't  my  put  in.  I  '11 
just  lave  the  Lord  alone.  Nothin'  makes  me 
madder  than  when  I  promise  Tommy  or 
Mary  or  any  of  them  something  and  then 


FAITH  MOVETH  MOUNTAINS    163 

have  them  frettin'  all  the  time  about  whether 
or  not  1 11  get  it  done.  I  'd  like  to  see  the 
clouds  though.  I  '11  bet  they  're  a  sight,  just 
like  what  Camilla  sings  about: 

Dark  is  His  path  on  the  wings  o'  the  storm. 

In  the  kitchen  below  the  Motherwells 
gathered  with  pale  faces.  The  windows 
shook  and  rattled  in  their  casings. 

"Keep  away  from  the  stove,  Tom,"  Mrs. 
Motherwell  said,  trembling.  '' That's  where 
the  lightnin'  strikes." 

Tom's  teeth  were  chattering. 

"This  '11  fix  the  wheat  that's  standing,  every 
—bit  of  it,"  Sam  said.  He  did  not  make  it 
quite  as  strong  as  he  intended.  Something 
had  taken  the  profanity  out  of  him. 

"Hadn't  you  better  go  up  and  bring  the 
kid  down,  ma?"  Tom  asked,  thinking  of  Pearl. 

"Her!"  his  father  said  contemptuously. 
"She  '11  never  hear  it." 

The  wind  suddenly  ceased.  Not  a  breath 
stirred,  only  a  continuous  glare  of  lightning. 
Then  crack !  crack !  crack !  on  the  roof,  on  the 
windows,  everywhere,  like  bad  boys  throwing 
stones,  heavier,  harder,  faster,  until  it  was 
one  beating,  thundering  roar. 


164      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

It  lasted  but  a  few  minutes,  though  it 
seemed  longer  to  those  who  listened  in  terror 
in  the  kitchen. 

The  roar  grew  less  and  less  and  at  last 
ceased  altogether,  and  only  a  gentle  rain  was 
falling. 

Sam  Motherwell  sat  without  speaking. 
"  You  have  cheated  the  Lord  all  these  years, 
and  He  has  borne  with  you,  trying  to  make 
you  pay  up  without  harsh  proceedings"  — 
he  found  himself  repeating  the  minister's 
words.  Could  this  be  what  he  meant  by 
harsh  proceedings?  Certainly  it  was  harsh 
enough  taking  away  a  man's  crop  after  all 
his  hard  work. 

Sam  was  "-full  of  self-pity.  There  were 
very  few  men  who  had  ever  been  treated  as 
badly  as  he  felt  himself  to  be. 

"Maybe  there  '11  only  be  a  streak  of  it 
hailed  out,"  Tom  said,  breaking  in  on  his 
father's  dismal  thoughts. 

"You  '11  see  in  the  mornin',"  his  father 
growled,  and  Tom  went  back  to  bed. 

When  Pearl  woke  it  was  with  the  wind 
blowing  in  upon  her;  the  morning  breeze 
fragrant  with  the  sweetness  of  the  flowers 


FAITH  MOVETH  MOUNTAINS     165 

and  the  ripening  grain.  The  musty  odours 
had  all  gone,  and  she  felt  life  and  health  in 
every  breath.  The  blackbirds  were  twitter- 
ing in  the  oats  behind  the  house,  and  the 
rising  sun  was  throwing  long  shadows  over 
the  field.  Scattered  glass  lay  on  the  floor. 

"  I  knew  the  dear  Lord  would  fix  the  gurms," 
Pearl  said  as  she  dressed,  laughing  to  herself. 
But  her  face  clouded  in  a  moment.  What 
about  the  poppies? 

Then  she  laughed  again.  "There  I  go 
frettin'  again.  I  guess  the  Lord  knows  they  're 
there  and  He  is  n't  going  to  smash  them  if 
Polly  really  needs  them." 

She  dressed  herself  hastily  and  ran  down 
the  ladder  and  around  behind  the  cookhouse, 
where  a  strange  sight  met  her  eyes.  The 
cookhouse  roof  had  been  blown  off  and 
placed  over  the  popies,  where  it  had  sheltered 
them  from  every  hailstone. 

Pearl  looked  under  the  roof.  The  poppies 
stood  there  straight  and  beautiful,  no  doubt 
wondering  what  big  thing  it  was  that  hid 
them  from  the  sun. 

When  Tom  and  his  father  went  out  in  the 
early  dawn  to  investigate  the  damage  done 


1 66      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

by  the  storm,  they  found  that  only  a  narrow 
strip  through  the  field  in  front  of  the  house 
had  been  touched. 

The  hail  had  played  a  strange  trick ;  beating 
down  the  grain  along  this  narrow  path,  just 
as  if  a  mighty  roller  had  come  through  it, 
until  it  reached  the  house,  on  the  other  side 
of  which  not  one  trace  of  damage  could  be 
found. 

"  Did  n't  we  get  off  lucky?"  Tom  exclaimed, 
"and  the  rest  of  the  grain  is  not  even  lodged. 
Why,  twenty-five  dollars  would  cover  the 
whole  loss,  cookhouse  roof  and  all." 

His  father  was  looking  over  the  rippling 
field,  green-gold  in  the  rosy  dawn.  He 
started  uncomfortably  at  Tom's  words. 

Twenty-five  dollars ! 


CHAPTER  XV 

INASMUCH 

AFTER  sundown  one  night  Pearl's  resolve 
was  carried  into  action.     She  picked 
a   shoe-box   full   of   poppies,    wrapping   the 
stems  carefully  in  wet  newspaper.     She  put 
the  cover  on,  and  wrapped  the  box  neatly. 

Then  she  wrote  the  address.  She  wrote  it 
painfully,  laboriously,  in  round  blocky  letters. 
Pearl  always  put  her  tongue  out  when  she 
was  doing  anything  that  required  minute 
attention.  She  was  so  anxious  to  have  the 
address  just  right  that  her  tongue  was  almost 
around  to  her  ear.  The  address  read: 

Miss  Polly  Bragg,  english  gurl 
and  sick  with  fever 
Brandon  Hospittle 

Brandon, 

Then  she  drew  a  design  around  it.  Jim- 
my's teacher  had  made  them  once  in  Jim- 

•167 


168      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

my's  scribbler,  just  beautiful.  She  was  sorry 
she  could  not  do  a  bird  with  a  long  strip  of 
tape  in  his  mouth  with  "Think  of  Me"  or 
"From  a  Friend"  or  "Love  the  Giver"  on 
it.  Ma  knew  a  man  once  who  could  do 
them,  quick  as  wink.  He  died  a  drunkard 
with  delirium  trimmings,  but  was  terrible 
smart. 

Then  she  stuck,  under  the  string,  a  letter 
she  had  written  to  Camilla.  Camilla  would 
get  them  sent  to  Polly. 

"  I  know  how  to  get  them  sent  to  Camilla, 
too,  you  bet,"  she  murmured.  "There  are 
two  ways,  both  good  ones,  too.  Jim  Russell 
is  one  way.  Jim  knows  what  flowers  are  to 
folks." 

She  crept  softly  down  the  stairs.  Mrs. 
Motherwell  had  left  the  kitchen  and  no  one 
was  about.  The  men  were  all  down  at  the 
barn. 

She  turned  around  the  cookhouse  where 
the  poppies  stood  straight  and  strong  against 
the  glowing  sky.  A  little  single  red  one  with 
white  edges  swayed  gently  on  its  slender 
stem  and  seemed  to  beckon  to  her  with 
pleading  insistence.  She  hurried  past  them, 


INASMUCH  169 

fearing  that  she  would  be  seen,  but  looking 
back  the  little  poppy  was  still  nodding  and 
pleading. 

"And  so  ye  can  go,  ye  sweetheart,"  she 
whispered.  "I  know  what  ye  want."  She 
came  back  for  it. 

"Just  like  Danny  would  be  honin'  to  come, 
if  it  was  me,"  she  murmured  with  a  sudden 
blur  of  homesickness. 

Through  the  pasture  she  flew  with  the 
speed  of  a  deer.  The  tall  sunflowers  along 
the  fence  seemed  to  throw  a  light  in  the 
gathering  gloom. 

A  night  hawk  circled  in  the  air  above  her, 
and  a  clumsy  bat  came  bumping  through  the 
dusk  as  she  crossed  the  creek  just  below  Jim's 
shanty. 

Bottles,  Jim's  dog,  jumped  up  and  barked, 
at  which  Jim  himself  came  to  the  door. 

"Come  back,  Bottles,"  he  called  to  the 
dog.  "How  will  I  ever  get  into  society  if 
you  treat  callers  that  way,  and  a  lady,  too! 
Dear,  dear,  is  my  tie  on  straight?  Oh,  is 
that  you  Pearl?  Come  right  in.  I  am  glad 
to  see  you." 

Over  the  door  of  Jim's    little  house  the 


1 70      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

words  "Happy  Home"  were  printed  in  large 
letters,  and  just  above  the  one  little  window 
another  sign  boldly  and  hospitably  announced 
"Hot  Meals  at  all  Hours." 

Pearl  stopped  at  the  door.  "No,  Jim," 
she  said,  "  it 's  not  visitin'  I  am,  but  I  will  go 
in  for  a  minute,  for  I  must  put  this  flower 
in  the  box.  Can  ye  go  to  town,  Jim,  in  a 
hurry?" 

"  I  can,"  Jim  replied. 

"  I  mean  now,  this  very  minute,  slappet- 
bang!" 

Jim  started  for  the  door. 

"Howld  on,  Jim!"  Pearl  cried,  "don't 
you  want  to  hear  what  ye  'r  goin'  for  ?  Take 
this  box  to  Camilla — Camilla  E.  Rose  at 
Mrs.  Francis's — and  she  '11  do  the  rest.  It 's 
flowers  for  poor  Polly,  sick  and  dyin'  maybe 
with  the  fever.  But  dead  or  alive,  flowers 
are  all  right  for  folks,  ain't  they,  Jim?  The 
train  goes  at  ten  o'clock.  Can  ye  do  it,  Jim?" 

Jim  was  brushing  his  hair  with  one  hand 
and  reaching  for  his  coat  with  the  other. 

"  Here 's  the  money  to  pay  for  the  ride  on 
the  cars,"  Pearl  said,  reaching  out  five  of  her 
coins. 


INASMUCH  171 

Jim  waved  his  hand. 

"That's  my  share  of  it,"  he  said,  pulling 
his  cap  down  on  his  head.  "You  see,  you  do 
the  first  part,  then  me,  then  Camilla  —  just 
like  the  fiery  cross."  He  was  half  way  to  the 
stable  as  he  spoke. 

He  threw  the  saddle  on  Chiniquy  and  was 
soon  galloping  down  the  road  with  the  box 
under  his  arm. 

Camilla  came  to  the  door  in  answer  to 
Jim's  ring. 

He  handed  her  the  box,  and  lifting  his  hat 
was  about  to  leave  without  a  word,  when 
Camilla  noticed  the  writing. 

"From  Pearl,"  she  said  eagerly.  "How 
is  Pearl?  Come  in,  please,  while  I  read  the 
letter  —  it  may  require  an  answer." 

Camilla  wore  a  shirt-waist  suit  of  brown, 
and  the  neatest  collar  and  tie,  and  Jim 
suddenly  became  conscious  that  his  boots 
were  not  blackened. 

Camilla  left  him  in  the  hall,  while  she  went 
into  the  library  and  read  the  contents  of  the 
letter  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Francis. 

She  returned  presently  and  with  a  pleasant 


1 72       SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

smile  said,  holding  out  her  hand,  "You  are 
Mr.  Russell.  I  am  glad  to  meet  you.  Tell 
Pearl  the  flowers  will  be  sent  to-night." 

She  opened  the  door  as  she  spoke,  and  Jim 
found  himself  going  down  the  steps,  wonder- 
ing just  how  it  happened  that  he  had  not 
said  one  word  —  he  who  was  usually  so  ready 
of  speech. 

"Well,  well,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he 
untied  Chiniquy,  "little  Jimmy's  lost  his 
tongue,  I  wonder  why?" 

All  the  way  home  the  vision  of  lovely 
dark  eyes  and  rippling  brown  hair  with  just 
a  hint  of  red  in  it,  danced  before  him.  Chini- 
quy, taking  advantage  of  his  master's  pre- 
occupation, wandered  aimlessly  against  a 
barbed  wire,  taking  very  good  care  not  to  get 
too  close  to  it  himself.  Jim  came  to  himself 
just  in  time  to  save  his  leg  from  a  prod  from 
the  spikes. 

"Chiniquy,  Chiniquy,"  he  said  gravely,  "I 
understand  now  something  of  the  hatred 
the  French  bear  your  illustrious  namesake. 
But  no  matter  what  the  man's  sins  may 
have  been,  surely  he  did  not  deserve  to  have 
a  little  flea-bitten,  mangey,  treacherous, 


INASMUCH  173 

mouse-coloured  deceiver  like  you  named  for 
him." 

When  Camilla  had  read  Pearl's  letter  to 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Francis,  the  latter  was  all 
emotion.  How  splendid  of  her,  so  sympa- 
thetic, so  full  of  the  true  inwardness  of 
Christian  love,  and  the  sweet  message  of  the 
poppy,  the  emblem  of  sleep,  so  prophetic  of 
that  other  sleep  that  knows  no  waking!  Is 
it  not  a  pagan  thought,  that?  What  ten- 
der recollections  they  will  bring  the  poor 
sufferer  of  her  far  away,  happy  childhood 
home! 

Mrs.  Francis's  face  was  shining  with  emo- 
tion as  she  spoke.  Then  she  became  dreamy. 

"I  wonder  is  her  soul  attune  to  the  melo- 
dies of  life,  and  will  she  feel  the  love  vibra- 
tions of  the  ether?" 

Mr.  Francis  had  noiselessly  left  the  room 
when  Camilla  had  finished  her  rapid  explana- 
tion. He  returned  with  his  little  valise  in 
his  hand. 

He  stood  a  moment  irresolutely  looking, 
in  his  helpless  dumb  way,  at  his  wife,  who 
was  so  beautifully  expounding  the  message 
of  the  flowers, 


i74      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

Camilla  handed  him  the  box.  She  under- 
stood. 

Mrs.  Francis  noticed  the  valise  in  her  hus- 
band's hand. 

"How  very  suddenly  you  make  up  your 
mind,  James,"  she  said.  "Are  you  actually 
going  away  on  the  train  to-night?  Really, 
James,  I  believe  I  shall  write  a  little  sketch 
for  our  church  paper.  Pearl's  thoughtful- 
ness  has  moved  me,  James.  It  really  has 
touched  me  deeply.  If  you  were  not  so 
engrossed  in  business,  James,  I  really  believe 
it  would  move  you;  but  men  are  so  different 
from  us,  Camilla.  They  are  not  so  soulful. 
Perhaps  it  is  just  as  well,  but  really  sometimes, 
James,  I  fear  you  give  business  too  large  a 
place  in  your  life.  It  is  all  business,  business, 
business." 

Mrs.  Francis  opened  her  desk,  and  drawing 
toward  her  her  gold  pen  and  dainty  letter 
paper,  began  her  article. 

Camilla  followed  Mr.  Francis  into  the  hall, 
and  helped  him  to  put  on  his  overcoat.  She 
handed  him  his  hat  with  something  like  rev- 
erence in  her  manner. 

"You   are  upon   the   King's   business   to- 


INASMUCH  175 

night,"  she  said,  with  shining  eyes,  as  she 
opened  the  door  for  him. 

He  opened  his  mouth  as  if  to  speak,  but 
only  waved  his  hand  with  an  impatient 
gesture  and  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

HOW   POLLY   WENT    HOME 

WE  'LL  have  to  move  poor  Polly,  if 
she  lives  thro'  the  night,"  the  nurse 
said  to  the  house  doctor  in  the  hospital  that 
night.  "She  is  making  all  the  patients  home- 
sick. To  hear  her  calling  for  her  mother 
or  for  '  someone  from  'ome '  is  hard  on  the  sick 
and  well." 

"What  are  her  chances  do  you  think?"  the 
doctor  asked  gravely. 

He  was  a  wiry  little  man  with  a  face  like 
leather,  but  his  touch  brought  healing  and 
his  presence,  hope. 

"She  is  dying  of  homesickness  as  well  as 
typhoid,"  the  nurse  said  sadly,  "and  she 
seems  so  anxious  to  get  better,  poor  .thing! 
She  often  says  '  I  can't  die,  miss,  for  what  11 
happen  mother.'  But  for  the  last  two  days, 
in  her  delirium,  she  seems  to  be  worrying 
more  about  her  work  and  her  flowers.  I 
176 


HOW  POLLY  WENT  HOME        1 77 

think  they  were  pretty  hard  people  she  lived 
with.  'Surely  she'll  praise  me  this  time,' 
she  often  says,  'I  Ve  tried  my  'ardest.'  The 
strenuous  life  has  been  too  much  for  poor 
Polly.  Listen  to  her  now!" 

Polly  was  singing.  Clear  and  steady  and 
sweet,  her  voice  rang  over  the  quiet  ward, 
and  many  a  fevered  face  was  raised  to  listen. 
Polly's  mind  was  wandering  in  the  shadows, 
but  she  still  sang  the  songs  of  home  in  a 
strange  land: 

Down  by  the  biller  there  grew  a  green  wilier 
A  weeping  all  night  with  the  bank  for  a  piller. 

And  over  and  over  again  she  sang  with  a 
wavering  cadence,  incoherently  sometimes, 
but  always  with  tender  pleading,  something 
about  "where  the  stream  was  a-flowin',  the 
gentle  kine  lowin',  and  over  my  grave  keep 
the  green  willers  growin'." 

"  It  is  pathetic  to  hear  her,"  the  nurse  said, 
"and  now  listen  to  her  asking  about  her 
poppies." 

"In  the  box,  miss;  I  brought  the  seed 
hacross  the  hocean,  and  they  wuz  beauties, 
they  wuz  wot  came  hup.  They  11  be  noddin' 


178      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

and  wavin'  now  red  and  'andsome,  if  she 
'as  n't  cut  them.  She  would  n't  cut  them, 
would  she,  miss?  She  couldn't  'ave  the 
'eart,  I  think." 

"No  indeed,  she  hasn't  cut  them,"  the 
nurse  declared  with  decision,  taking  Polly's 
burning  hand  tenderly  in  hers.  "No  one 
could  cut  down  such  beauties.  What  non- 
eense  to  think  of  such  a  thing,  Polly.  They  're 
blooming,  I  tell  you,  red  and  handsome, 
almost  as  tall  as  you  are,  Polly." 

The  office-boy  touched  the  nurse 's  arm. 

"A  gentleman  who  gave  no  name  left  this 
box  for  one  of  the  typhoid  patients,"  he  said, 
handing  her  the  box. 

The  nurse  read  the  address  and  the  box 
trembled  in  her  hands  as  she  nervously  opened 
it  and  took  out  the  contents. 

"Polly,  Polly!"  she  cried,  excitedly,  did  n't 
I  tell  you  they  were  blooming,  red  and 
handsome." 

But  Polly's  eyes  were  burning  with  de- 
lirium and  her  lips  babbled  meaninglessly. 

The  nurse  held  the  poppies  over  her. 

Her  arms  reached  out  caressingly. 

"Oh,  miss!"  she  cried,  her  mind  coming 


HOW  POLLY  WENT  HOME        179 

back  from  the  shadows.  "They  have  come 
at  last,  the  darlin's,  the  sweethearts,  the 
loves,  the  beauties."  She  held  them  in  a 
close  embrace.  "They  're  from  'ome,  they  're 
from  'ome!"  she  gasped  painfully,  for  her 
breath  came  with  difficulty  now.  "I  can't 
just  see  them,  miss,  the  lights  is  movin'  so 
much,  and  the  way  the  bed  'eaves,  but,  tell 
me,  miss,  is  there  a  little  silky  one,  hedged 
with  w'ite  It  was  mother's  favourite  one 
of  hall.  I  'd  like  to  'ave  it  in  my  'and,  miss." 

The  nurse  put  it  in  her  hand.  She  was 
only  a  young  nurse  and  her  face  was  wet 
with  tears. 

"It's  like  'avin'  my  mother's  'and,  miss, 
it  is,"  she  murmured  softly.  "Ye  wouldn't 
mind  the  dark  if  ye  'ad  yer  mother's  'and, 
would  ye,  miss?" 

And  then  the  nurse  took  Polly's  throbbing 
head  in  her  strong  young  arms,  and  soothed 
its  restless  tossing  with  her  cool  soft  touch, 
and  told  her  through  her  tears  of  that  other 
Friend,  who  would  go  with  her  all  the  way. 

"I'm  that  'appy,  miss,"  Polly  murmured 
faintly.  "  It 's  like  I  was  goin'  'ome.  Say 
that  again  about  the  valley,"  and  the  nurse 


i8o      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

repeated   tenderly   that   promise   of   incom- 
parable sweetness: 

Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the 
shadow  of  death  I  will  fear  no  evil,  for  thou  art  with 
me,  .thy  rod  and  thy  staff  they  comfort  me. 

"It's  just  like  'avin'  mother's  'and  to 
'old  the  little  silky  one/'  Polly  murmured 
sleepily. 

The  nurse  put  the  poppies  beside  Polly's  face 
on  the  pillow,  and  drawing  a  screen  around 
her  went  on  to  the  next  patient.  A  case  of 
urgent  need  detained  her  at  the  other  end 
of  the  ward,  and  it  was  not  until  the  dawn 
was  shining  blue  in  the  windows  that  she 
came  back  on  her  rounds. 

Polly  lay  just  as  she  had  left  her.  The 
crimson  petals  lay  thick  upon  her  face  and 
hair.  The  homesickness  and  redness  of 
weeping  had  gone  forever  from  her  eyes,  for 
they  were  looking  now  upon  the  King  in  his 
beauty!  In  her  hand,  now  cold  and  waxen, 
she  held  one  little  silky  poppy,  red  with 
edges  of  white.  Polly  had  gone  home. 

There  was  a  whisper  among  the  poppies 
that  grew  behind  the  cookhouse  that  _morn- 
ing  as  the  first  gleam  of  the  sun  came  yellow 


HOW  POLLY  WENT  HOME        181 

and  wan  over  the  fields;  there  was  a  whisper 
and  a  shivering  among  the  poppies  as  the 
morning  breezes,  cold  and  chill,  rippled  over 
them,  and  a  shower  of  crystal  drops  mingled 
with  the  crimson  petals  that  fluttered 'to  the 
ground.  It  was  not  until  Pearl  came  out 
and  picked  a  handful  of  them  for  her  dingy 
little  room  that  they  held  up  their  heads  once 
more  and  waved  and  nodded,  red  and  hand- 
some. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
"EGBERT  AND  EDYTHE" 

WHEN  Tom  Motherwell  called  at  the 
Millford  post  office  one  day  he  got 
the  surprise  of  his  life. 

The  Englishman  had  asked  him  to  get  his 
mail,  and,  of  course,  there  was  the  Northwest 
Farmer  to  get,  and  there  might  be  catalogues ; 
but  the  possibilities  of  a  letter  addressed  to 
Mr.  Thos.  Motherwell  did  not  occur  to  him. 

But  it  was  there ! 

A  square  gray  envelope  with  his  own  name 
written  on  it.  He  had  never  before  got  a 
real  letter.  Once  he  had  a  machinery  cata- 
logue sent  to  him,  with  a  typewritten  letter 
inside  beginning  "Dear  Sir,"  but  his  mother 
had  told  him  that  it  was  just  money  they 
were  after,  but  what  would  she  say  if  she  saw 
this? 

He  did  not  trust  himself  to  open  it  in 
the  plain  gaze  of  the  people  in  the  office. 
182 


"  EGBERT  AND  EDYTHE "         183 

The  girl  behind  the  wicket  noticed  his 
excitement. 

"Ye  needn't  glue  yer  eye  on  me,"  Tom 
thought  indignantly.  "  I  '11  not  open  it  here 
for  you  to  watch  me.  They  're  awful  pryin' 
in  this  office.  What  do  you  bet  she  has  n't 
opened  it?"  He  moved  aside  as  others 
pressed  up  to  the  wicket,  feeling  that  every 
eye  was  upon  him. 

In  a  corner  outside  the  door,  Tom  opened 
his  letter,  and  laboriously  made  out  its  con- 
tents. It  was  written  neatly  with  carefully 
shaded  capitals: 

Dear  Tom:  We  are  going  to  have  a  party  to-morrow 
night,   because    George  and  Fred  are  going  back  to 
college  next  week.     We  want  you  to  come  and  bring 
your  Englishman.     We  all  hope  you  will  come. 
Ever  your  friend, 

NELLIE  SLATER. 

Tom  read  it  again  with  burning  cheeks.  A 
party  at  Slater's  and  him  invited! 

He  walked  down  the  street  feeling  just  the 
same  as  when  his  colt  got  the  prize  at  the 
"Fair."     He  felt  he  was  a  marked  man  — 
eagerly  sought  after  —  invited  to  parties  - 
girls  writing  to  him!     That's  what  it  was  to 


1 84      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

have  the  cash: —  you  bet  pa  and  ma  were 
right !  —  money  talks  every  time ! 

When  he  came  in  sight  of  home  his  elation 
vanished.  His  father  and  mother  would  not 
let  him  go,  he  knew  that  very  well.  They 
were  afraid  that  Nellie  Slater  wanted  to 
marry  him.  And  Nellie  Slater  was  not  eli- 
gible for  the  position  of  daughter-in-law. 
Nellie  Slater  had  never  patched  a  quilt  nor 
even  made  a  tie-down.  She  always  used 
baking  powder  instead  of  cream  of  tartar 
and  soda,  and  was  known  to  have  a  leaning 
toward  canned  goods.  Mrs.  Motherwell  con- 
sidered her  just  the  girl  to  spend  a  man's 
honest  earnings  and  bring  him  to  speedy  ruin. 
Moreover,  she  idled  away  her  time,  teaching 
cats  to  jump,  and  her  eighteen  years  old,  if 
she  was  a  day ! 

Tom  knew  that  if  he  went  to  the  party  it 
must  be  by  stealth.  When  he  drove  up  to 
the  kitchen  door  his  mother  looked  up  from 
her  ironing  and  asked: 

"What  kept  you,  Tom?" 

Tom  had  not  been  detained  at  all,  but  Mrs. 
Motherwell  always  used  this  form  of  saluta- 
tion to  be  sure. 


"  EGBERT  AND  EDYTHE ' '         185 

Tom  grumbled  a  reply,  and  handing  out 
the  mail  began  to  unhitch. 

Mrs.  Motherwell  read  the  addresses  on  the 
Englishman's  letters: 

Mr.  Arthur  Wemyss, 

c\o  Mr.  S.  Motherwell, 
Millford  P.  O., 

Manitoba,  Canada, 
Township  8,  range  16,  sec't.  20.  North  America. 

"  Now  I  wonder  who 's  writing  to  him? "she 
said,  laying  the  two  letters  down  reluctantly. 

There  was  one  other  letter  addressed  to 
Mr.  Motherwell,  which  she  took  to  be  a  twine 
bill.  It  was  post-marked  Brandon.  She  put 
it  up  in  the  pudding  dish  on  the  sideboard. 

As  Tom  led  the  horse  to  the  stable  he  met 
Pearl  coming  in  with  the  eggs. 

"See  here,  kid,"  he  said  carelessly,  handing 
her  the  letter. 

Tom  knew  Pearl  was  to  be  trusted.  She 
had  a  good  head,  Pearl  had,  for  a  girl. 

"Oh,  good  shot!"  Pearl  cried  delightedly, 
as  she  read  the  note.  "  Won 't  that  be 
great?  Are  your  clothes  ready,  though?" 
It  was  the  eldest  of  the  family  who  spoke. 


i86      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

"Clothes,"  Tom  said  contemptuously. 
"They  are  a  blamed  sight  readier  than  I  am." 

"I  '11  blacken  your  boots,"  Pearl  said, 
"and  press  out  a  tie.  Say,  how  about  a 
collar?" 

"Oh,  the  clothes  are  all  right,  but  pa  and 
ma  won't  let  me  go  near  Nellie  Slater." 

"Is  she  tooberkler?"   Pearl  asked  quickly. 

"Not  so  very,"  Tom  answered  guardedly. 
"Ma  is  afraid  I  might  marry  her." 

"  Is  she  awful  pretty?"  Pearl  asked,  glowing 
with  pleasure.  Here  was  a  rapturous  romance. 

"You  bet,"  Tom  declared  with  pride. 
"She's  the  swellest  girl  in  these  parts"  — 
this  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  had  weighed 
many  feminine  charms  and  found  them 
wanting. 

"Has  she  eyes  like  stars,  lips  like  cherries, 
neck  like  a  swan,  and  a  laugh  like  a  ripple  of 
music?"  Pearl  asked  eagerly. 

"Them  's  it,"  Tom  replied  modestly. 

"Then  I'd  go,  you  bet!"  was  Pearl  's  em- 
phatic reply.  "  There  's  your  mother  calling. ' ' 

"Yes  'm,  I  'm  comin'.  1 11  help  you,  Tom. 
Keep  a  stout  heart  and  all  will  be  well." 

Pearl  knew  all  about  frustrated  love.     Ma 


"  EGBERT  AND  EDYTHE ' '         187 

had  read  a  story  once,  called  "Wedded  and 
Parted,  and  Wedded  Again."  Cruel  and  de- 
signing parents  had  parted  young  Edythe 
(pronounced  Ed'-ith-ee)  and  Egbert,  and 
Egbert  just  pined  and  pined  and  pined.  How 
would  Mrs.  Motherwell  like  it  if  poor  Tom 
began  to  pine  and  turn  from  his  victuals.  The 
only  thing  that  saved  Egbert  from  the  silent 
tomb  where  partings  come  no  more,  was  the 
old  doctor  who  used  to  say,  "Keep  a  stout 
heart,  Egbert,  all  will  be  well."  That  's  why 
she  said  it  to  Tom. 

Edythe  had  eyes  like  stars,  mouth  like 
cherries,  neck  like  a  swan,  and  a  laugh  like  a 
ripple  of  music,  and  was  n't  it  strange,  Nellie 
Slater  had,  too?  Pearl  knew  now  why  Tom 
chewed  Old  Chum  tobacco  so  much.  Men 
often  plunge  into  dissipation  when  they  are 
crossed  in  love,  and  maybe  Tom  would  go 
and  be  a  robber  or  a  pirate  or  something ; 
and  then  he  might  kill  a  man  and  be  led  to 
the  scaffold,  and  he  would  turn  his  haggard 
face  to  the  howling  mob,  and  say,  "All  that 
I  am  my  mother  made  me."  Say,  would  n't 
that  make  her  feel  cheap!  Wouldn't  that 
make  a  woman  feel  like  thirty  cents  if  any- 


1 88      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

thing  would.  Here  Pearl's  gloomy  reflections 
overcame  her  and  she  sobbed  aloud. 

Mrs.  Motherwell  looked  up  apprehensively 

"What  are  you  crying  for,  Pearl?"  she 
asked  not  unkindly. 

Then,  oh,  how  Pearl  wanted  to  point  her 
finger  at  Mrs.  Motherwell,  and  say  with  pierc- 
ing clearness,  the  way  a  woman  did  in  the 
book: 

"  I  weep  not  for  myself,  but  for  you  and 
for  your  children."  But,  of  course,  that 
would  not  do,  so  she  said: 

"I  ain't  cry  in'  — much." 

Pearl  was  grating  horse-radish  that  after- 
noon, but  the  tears  she  shed  were  for  the 
parted  lovers.  She  wondered  if  they  ever 
met  in  the  moonlight  and  vowed  to  be  true 
till  the  rocks  melted  in  the  sun,  and  all  the 
seas  ran  dry.  That'  s  what  Egbert  had  said, 
and  then  a  rift  of  cloud  passed  athwart  the 
moon's  face,  and  Edythe  fainted  dead  away 
because  it  is  bad  luck  to  have  a  cloud  go 
over  the  moon  when  people  are  busy  plighting 
vows,  and  was  n't  it  a  good  thing  that  Egbert 
was  there  to  break  her  fall?  Pearl  could  just 
see  poor  Nellie  Slater  standing  dry-eyed  and 


"  EGBERT  AND  EDYTHE ' '         189 

pale  at  the  window  wondering  if  Tom  could 
get  away  from  his  lynx-eyed  parents  who 
dogged  his  every  footstep,  and  Pearl's  tears 
flowed  afresh. 

But  Nellie  Slater  was  not  standing  dry- 
eyed  and  pale  at  the  window. 

"Did  you  ask  Tom  Motherwell?"  Fred, 
her  brother,  asked,  looking  up  from  a  list  he 
held  in  his  hand. 

"I  sent  him  a  note,"  Nellie  answered, 
turning  around  from  the  baking-board.  "We 
could  n't  leave  Tom  out.  Poor  boy,  he  never 
has  any  fun,  and  I  do  feel  sorry  for  him." 

"His  mother  won't  let  him  come,  any- 
way," Fred  said,  smiling.  "  So  don't  set  your 
heart  on  seeing  him,  Nell." 

"How  discouraging  you  are,  Fred,"  Nellie 
replied  laughing.  "Now,  I  believe  he  will 
come.  Tom  would  be  a  smart  boy  if  he  had 
a  chance,  I  think.  But  just  think  what  it 
must  be  like  to  live  with  two  people  like  the 
Motherwells.  You  do  not  realise  it,  Fred, 
because  you  have  had  the  superior  advan- 
tages of  living  with  clever  people  like  your 
brother  Peter  and  your  sister  Eleanor  Mary; 
is  n't  that  so,  Peter?" 


1 90      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

Peter  Slater,  the  youngest  of  the  family, 
who  had  just  come  in,  laid  down  the  milk- 
pails  before  replying. 

"We  have  done  our  best  for  them  all, 
Nellie,"  he  said  modestly.  "I  hope  they 
will  repay  us.  But  did  I  hear  you  say  Tom 
Motherwell  was  coming  ? 

"You  heard  Nell  say  so,"  Fred  answered, 
checking  over  the  names.  "Nell  seems  to 
like  Tom  pretty  well." 

"I  do,  indeed,"  Nellie  assented,  without 
turning  around. 

"You  show  good  taste,  Eleanor,"  Peter 
said  as  he  washed  his  hands. 

"Who  is  going  to  drive  into  town  for 
Camilla?"  Nellie  asked  that  evening. 

"I  am,"  Fred  answered  promptly. 

"No,  you  're  not,  I  am,"  Peter  declared. 

George  looked  up  hastily. 

"I  am  going  to  bring  Miss  Rose  out,"  he 
said  firmly. 

Then  they  laughed. 

"Father,"  Nellie  said  gravely,  "just  to  save 
trouble  among  the  boys,  will  you  do  it?" 

"With  the  greatest  of  pleasure,"  her  father 
said,  smiling. 


"EGBERT  AND  EDYTHE"        191 

Under  Pearl's  ready  sympathy  Tom  be- 
gan to  feel  the  part  of  the  stricken  lover,  and 
to  become  as  eager  to  meet  Nellie  as  Egbert 
had  been  to  meet  the  beautiful  Edythe.  He 
moped  around  the  field  that  afternoon  and 
let  Arthur  do  the  heavy  share  of  the  work. 

The  next  morning  before  Mrs.  Motherwell 
appeared  Pearl  and  Tom  decided  upon  the 
plan  of  campaign.  Pearl  was  to  get  his 
Sunday  clothes  taken  to  the  bluff  in  the 
pasture  field,  sometime  during  the  day.  Then 
in  the  evening  Tom  would  retire  early,  watch 
his  chance,  slip  out  the  front  door,  make  his 
toilet  on  the  bluff,  and  then,  oh  bliss !  away  to 
Edythe. 

Pearl  had  thought  of  having  him  make  a 
rope  of  the  sheets;  but  she  remembered  that 
this  plan  of  escape  was  only  used  when  people 
were  leaving  a  place  for  good  —  such  as  a 
prison;  but  for  coming  back  again,  perhaps 
after  all,  it  was  better  to  use  the  front  door. 
Egbert  had  used  the  sheets,  though. 

Fortune  favoured  Pearl 's  plans  that  after- 
noon. A  book  agent  called  at  the  back  door 
with  the  prospectus  of  a  book  entitled, 
"Woman's  Influence  in  the  Home."  While 


i92      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

he  was  busy  explaining  to  Mrs.  Motherwell 
the  great  advantages  of  possessing  a  copy  of 
this  book,  and  she  was  equally  busy  explain- 
ing to  him  her  views  on  bookselling  as  an 
occupation  for  an  able-bodied  man,  Pearl 
secured  Tom's  suit,  ran  down  the  front 
stairs,  out  the  front  door  and  away  to  the 
bluff. 

Coming  back  to  the  house  she  had  an 
uneasy  feeling  that  she  was  doing  something 
wrong.  Then  she  remembered  Edythe,  dry- 
eyed  and  pale,  and  her  fears  vanished.  Pearl 
had  recited  once  at  a  Band  of  Hope  meeting 
a  poem  of  her  own  choosing  —  this  was  before 
the  regulations  excluding  secular  subjects 
became  so  rigid.  Pearl's  recitation  dealt 
with  a  captive  knight  who  languished  in  a 
mouldy  prison.  He  begged  a  temporary 
respite  —  his  prayer  was  heard  —  a  year 
was  given  him.  He  went  back  to  his  wife 
and  child  and  lived  the  year  in  peace  and 
happiness.  The  hour  came  to  part,  friends 
entreated  —  wife  and  child  wept  —  the 
knight  alone  was  calm. 

He  stepped  through  the  casement,  a  proud 
flush  on  his  cheek,  casting  aside  wife,  child, 


"EGBERT  AND  EDYTHE"        193 

friends.  "What  are  wife  and  child  to  the 
word  of  a  knight?"  he  said.  "And  behold  the 
dawn  has  come!" 

Pearl  had  lived  the  scene  over  and  over; 
to  her  it  stood  for  all  that  was  brave  and 
heroic.  Coming  up  through  the  weeds  that 
day,  she  was  that  man.  Her  step  was  proud, 
her  head  was  thrown  back,  her  brown  eyes 
glowed  and  burned;  there  was  strength  and 
grace  in  every  motion. 

When  Tom  Motherwell  furtively  left  his 
father's  house,  and  made  his  way  to  the 
little  grove  where  his  best  clothes  were  se- 
creted, his  movements  were  followed  by  two 
anxious  brown  eyes  that  looked  out  of  the 
little  window  in  the  rear  of  the  house. 

The  men  came  in  from  the  barn,  and  the 
night  hush  settled  down  upon  the  household. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Motherwell  went  to  their  repose, 
little  dreaming  that  their  only  son  had 
entered  society,  and,  worse  still,  was  ex- 
posed to  the  baneful  charms  of  the  reck- 
less young  woman  who  was  known  to  have  a 
preference  for  baking  powder  and  canned 
goods,  and  curled  her  hair  with  the  curling 
tongs. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE    PARTY    AT    SLATER'S 

WONDER  how  we  are  going  to  get  all 
the  people  in  to-night,"  Edith  Slater  said 
gravely  as  the  family  sat  at  supper.  I  am 
afraid  the  walls  will  be  bulged  out  to-morrow." 

"The  new  chicken-house  and  the  cellar 
will  do  for  the  overflow  meetings,"  George 
remarked. 

"  I  borrow  the  pantry  if  it  comes  to  a  crush, 
you  and  I,  Camilla,"  Peter  Slater  said,  help- 
ing himself  to  another  piece  of  pie.  Camilla 
had  come  out  in  the  afternoon  to  help  with 
the  preparations. 

"No,  Camilla  is  my  partner,"  Fred  said 
severely.  "Peter  is  growing  up  too  fast, 
don't  you  think  so,  mother?  Since  I  lent 
him  my  razor  to  play  with  there 's  no  end  to 
the  airs  he  gives  himself.  I  think  he  should 
go  to  bed  at  eight  o'clock  to-night,  same  as 
other  nights. ' ' 

194 


THE  PARTY  AT  SLATER'S        195 

Peter  laughed  scornfully,  but  Nellie  inter- 
posed. 

"You  boys  needn't  quarrel  over  Camilla 
for  Jim  Russell  is  coming,  and  when  Camilla 
sees  him,  what  chance  do  you  suppose  you  '11 
have?" 

"And  when  Jim  sees  Camilla,  what  chance 
will  you  have,  Nell?"  George  asked. 

"Not  one  in  a  hundred;  but  I  am  prepared 
for  the  worst,"  Nellie  answered,  good-nat- 
uredly. 

"That  means  she  has  asked  Tom  Mother- 
well,"  Peter  explained. 

Then  Mrs.  Slater  told  them  to  hurry  along 
with  their  supper  for  the  people  would  soon 
be  coming. 

It  was  Mrs.  Slater  who  had  planned  the 
party.  Mrs.  Slater  was  the  leading  spirit  in 
everything  in  the  household  that  required 
dash  and  daring.  Hers  was  the  dominant 
voice,  though  nothing  louder  than  a  whisper 
had  been  heard  from  her  for  years.  She 
laughed  in  a  whisper,  she  cried  in  a  whisper. 
Yet  in  some  way  her  laugh  was  contagious, 
and  her  tears  brought  comfort  to  those  with 
whom  she  wept. 


196      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

When  she  proposed  the  party  the  girls  fore- 
saw difficulties.  The  house  was  small  — 
there  were  so  many  to  ask  —  it  was  a  busy 
time. 

Mrs.  Slater  stood  firm. 

"Ask  everybody,"  she  whispered.  "No- 
body minds  being  crowded  at  a  party.  I 
was  at  a  party  once  where  we  had  to  go  out- 
side to  turn  around,  the  house  was  so  small. 
I  '11  never  forget  what  a  good  time  we  had." 

Mr.  Slater  was  dressed  and  ready  for  any- 
thing long  before  the  time  had  come  for  the 
guests  to  arrive.  An  hour  before  he  had  sat 
down  resignedly  and  said,  "Come,  girls,  do 
as  you  think  best  with  the  old  man,  scrub 
him,  polish  him,  powder  him,  blacken  his 
eyebrows,  do  not  spare  him,  he's  yours," 
and  the  girls  had  laughingly  accepted  the 
privilege. 

George,  whose  duty  it  was  to  attend  to  the 
lamps  for  the  occasion,  came  in  with  a  worried 
look,  on  his  usually  placid  face. 

"The  aristocratic  parlour-lamp  is  indis- 
posed," he  said.  "It  has  balked,  refuses  to 
turn  up,  and  smells  dreadfully." 

"Bring    in   the   plebeians,    George,"    Fred 


THE  PARTY  AT  SLATER'S        197 

cried  gaily,  "and  never  mind  the  patrician  — 
the  forty-cent  plebs  never  fail.  I  told  Jim 
Russell  to  bring  his  lantern,  and  Peter  can 
stand  in  a  corner  and  light  matches  if  we  are 
short." 

"It's  working  now,"  Edith  called  from  the 
parlour,  "burning  beautifully;  mother  drew 
her  hand  over  it." 

Soon  the  company  began  to  arrive.  Bash- 
ful, self-conscious  girls,  some  of  them  were, 
old  before  their  time  with  the  marks  of  toil, 
heavy  and  unremitting,  upon  them,  hard- 
handed,  stoop -shouldered,  dull-eyed  and  awk- 
ward. These  were  the  daughters  of  rich 
farmers.  Good  girls  they  were,  too,  con- 
scientious, careful,  unselfish,  thinking  it  a 
virtue  to  stifle  every  ambition,  smother  every 
craving  for  pleasure. 

When  they  felt  tired,  they  called  it  laziness 
and  felt  disgraced,  and  thus  they  had  spent 
their  days,  working,  working  from  the  gray 
dawn,  until  the  darkness  came  again,  and  all 
for  what?  When  in  after  years  these  girls, 
broken  in  health  and  in  spirits,  slipped  away 
to  premature  graves,  or,  worse  still,  settled 
into  chronic  invalidism,  of  what  avail  was  the 


1 98      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

memory  of  the  cows  they  milked,  the  mats 
they  hooked,  the  number  of  pounds  of  butter 
they  made. 

Not  all  the  girls  were  like  these.  Maud 
Murray  was  there.  Maud  Murray  with  the 
milkmaid  cheeks  and  curly  black  hair,  the 
typical  country  girl  of  bounding  life  and 
spirits,  the  type  so  often  seen  upon  the  stage 
and  so  seldom  elsewhere. 

Mrs.  Motherwell  had  warned  Tom  against 
Maud  Murray  as  well  as  Nellie  Slater.  She 
had  once  seen  Maud  churning,  and  she  had 
had  a  newspaper  pinned  to  the  wall  in  front 
of  her,  and  was  reading  it  as  she  worked,  and 
Mrs.  Motherwell  knew  that  a  girl  who  would 
do  that  would  come  to  no  good. 

Martha  Perkins  was  the  one  girl  of  whom 
Mrs.  Motherwell  approved.  Martha's  record 
on  butter  and  quilts  and  mats  stood  high. 
Martha  was  a  nice  quiet  girl.  Mrs.  Mother- 
well  often  said  a  "nice,  quiet,  unappearing 
girl."  Martha  certainly  was  quiet.  Her  con- 
versational attainments  did  not  run  high. 
"Things  is  what  they  are,  and  what's  the 
good  of  saying  anything,"  Martha  had  once 
said  in  defence  of  her  silent  ways. 


THE  PARTY  AT  SLATER'S        199 

She  was  small  and  sallow-skinned  and  was 
dressed  in  an  anaemic  gray;  her  thin  hay- 
coloured  hair  was  combed  straight  back  from  a 
rather  fine  forehead.  She  stooped  a  little 
when  she  walked,  and  even  when  not  em- 
ployed her  hands  picked  nervously  at  each 
other.  Martha's  shyness,  the  "unappear- 
ing"  quality,  was  another  of  her  virtues  in 
the  eyes  of  Tom's  mother.  Martha  rarely 
left  home  even  to  go  to  Millford.  Martha 
did  not  go  to  the  Agricultural  Fair  when  her 
mats  and  quilts  and  butter  and  darning  and 
buttonholes  on  cotton  got  their  red  tickets. 
Martha  stayed  at  home  and  dug  potatoes  — 
a  nice,  quiet,  unappearing  girl. 

When  they  played  games  at  the  Slaters 
that  evening,  Martha  would  not  play.  She 
never  cared  for  games  she  said,  they  tired 
a  person  so.  She  would  just  watch  the 
others,  and  she  wished  again  that  she  had 
her  knitting. 

Then  the  kitchen  floor  was  cleared;  table, 
chairs  and  lounge  were  set  outside  to  make 
room  for  the  dancing,  and  when  the  violins 
rang  out  with  the  "Arkansaw  Traveller," 
and  big  John  Kennedy  in  his  official  voice 


200      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

of  caller-off  announced,  "Select  your  part- 
ners," every  person  felt  that  the  real  business 
of  the  evening  had  begun. 

Tom  had  learned  to  dance,  though  his 
parents  would  have  been  surprised  had  they 
known  it.  Out  in  the  granary  on  rainy 
days  hired  men  had  obligingly  instructed 
him  in  the  mysteries  of  the  two-step  and 
waltz.  He  sat  in  a  corner  and  watched  the 
first  dance.  When  Jim  Russell  came  into 
the  hall,  after  receiving  a  warm  welcome 
from  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Slater,  who  stood  at  the 
door,  he  was  conscious  of  a  sudden  thrill 
of  pleasure.  It  was  the  vision  of  Camilla, 
at  the  farther  end  of  the  dining-room,  as 
she  helped  the  Slater  girls  to  receive  their 
guests.  Camilla  wore  a  red  dress  that  brought 
out  the  blue-black  of  her  eyes,  and  it  seemed 
to  Jim  as  he  watched  her  graceful  move- 
ments that  he  had  never  seen  anyone  so 
beautiful.  She  was  piloting  a  bevy  of  bash- 
ful girls  to  the  stairway,  and  as  she  passed 
him  she  gave  him  a  little  nod  and  smile  that 
set  his  heart  dancing. 

He  heard  the  caller-off  calling  for  partners 
for  a  quadrille.  The  fiddlers  had  already 


THE  PARTY  AT  SLATER'S       201 

tuned  their  instruments.  From  where  he 
stood  he  could  see  the  figures  forming,  but 
Jim  watched  the  stairway.  At  last  she  came, 
with  a  company  of  other  girls,  none  of  whom 
he  saw,  and  he  asked  her  for  the  first  dance. 
Jim  was  not  a  conceited  young  man,  but  he 
felt  that  she  would  not  refuse  him.  Nor 
did  she. 

Camilla  danced  well  and  so  did  Jim,  and 
many  an  eye  followed  them  as  they  wound 
in  and  out  through  the  other  dancers. 
When  the  dance  was  over  he  led  her  to  a 
seat  and  sat  beside  her.  They  had  much 
to  talk  of.  Camilla  was  anxious  to  hear  of 
Pearl,  and  it  seemed  all  at  once  that  they 
had  become  very  good  friends  indeed. 

The  second  dance  was  a  waltz.  Tom 
did  not  know  that  it  was  the  music  that 
stirred  his  soul  with  a  sudden  tenderness, 
a  longing  indefinite,  that  was  full  of  pain 
and  yet  was  all  sweetness.  Martha  who  sat 
near  him  looked  at  him  half  expectantly. 
But  her  little  gray  face  and  twitching  hands 
repelled  him.  On  the  other  side  of  the  room, 
Nellie  Slater,  flushed  and  smiling  was  tapping 
her  foot  to  the  music. 


202       SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

He  found  himself  on  his  feet.  "Who 
cares  for  mats?"  he  muttered.  He  was  be- 
side Nellie  in  an  instant. 

"Nellie,  will  you  dance  with  me?"  he 
faltered,  wondering  at  his  own  temerity. 

"I  will,  Tom,  with  pleasure,"  she  said, 
smiling. 

His  arm  was  around  her  now  and  they 
were  off,  one,  two,  three;  one,  two,  three; 
yes,  he  had  the  step.  "Over  the  foam  we 
glide,"  in  and  out  through  the  other  dancers, 
the  violins  weaving  that  story  of 'love  never 
ending.  "What  though  the  world  be  wide" 
—  Nellie's  head  was  just  below  his  face  — 
"Love's  golden  star  will  guide."  Nellie's 
hand  was  in  his  as  they  floated  on  the  rain- 
bow-sea. "Drifting  along,  glad  is  our  song" 
—  her  hair  blew  against  his  cheek  as  they 
swept  past  the  open  door.  What  did  he  care 
what  his  mother  would  say.  He  was  Egbert 
now.  Edythe  was  in  his  arms.  "While  we 
are  side  by  side"  the  violins  sang,  glad, 
triumphant,  that  old  story  that  runs  like  a 
thread  of  gold  through  all  life's  patterns; 
that  old  song,  old  yet  eve'r  new,  deathless, 
unchangeable,  which  maketh  the  poor  man 


THE  PARTY  AT  SLATER'S       203 

rich  and  without  which  the  richest  becomes 
poor! 

When  the  music  stopped,  Tom  awoke  from 
his  idolatrous  dream.  He  brought  Nellie  to 
a  seat  and  sat  awkwardly  beside  her.  His 
old  self-complacency  had  left  him.  Nellie 
was  talking  to  him,  but  he  did  not  hear  what 
she  said.  He  was  not  looking  at  her,  but 
at  himself.  Before  he  knew  it  she  had  left 
him  and  was  dancing  with  Jim  Russell. 
Tom  looked  after  them,  miserable.  She  was 
looking  into  Jim's  face,  smiling  and  talking. 
What  the  mischief  were  they  saying?  He 
tried  to  tell  himself  that  he  could  buy  and 
sell  Jim  Russell;  Jim  had  not  anything  in  the 
world  but  a  quarter  of  scrub  land.  They 
passed  him  again,  still  smiling  and  talking. 
"  Nellie  Slater  is  making  herself  mighty  cheap," 
he  thought  angrily.  Then  the  thought  came 
home  to  him  with  sudden  bitterness  —  how 
handsome  Jim  was,  so  straight  and  tall,  so 
well-dressed,  so  clever,  and,  bitterest  of  all, 
how  different  from  him. 

When  Jim  and  Camilla  were  sitting  out 
the  second  dance  he  told  her  about  Arthur, 
the  Englishman,  who  sat  in  a  corner,  shy  and 


204      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

uncomfortable.  Camilla  became  interested 
at  once,  and  when  he  brought  Arthur  over 
and  introduced  him,  Camilla's  friendly  smile 
set  him  at  his  ease.  Then  Jim  generously 
vacated  his  seat  and  went  to  find  Nellie  Slater. 

"Select  your  partneis  for  a  square  dance!" 
big  John,  the  caller-off  announced,  when  the 
floor  was  cleared.  This  was  the  dance  that 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Slater  would  have  to  dance. 
It  was  in  vain  that  Mrs.  Slater  whispered 
that  she  had  not  danced  for  years,  that  she 
was  a  Methodist  bred  and  born.  That  did  not 
matter.  Her  son  Peter  declared  that  his 
mother  could  dance  beautifully,  jigs  and 
hornpipes  and  things  like  that.  He  had 
often  seen  her  at  it  when  she  was  down  in 
the  milkhouse  alone. 

Mrs.  Slater  whispered  dreadful  threats; 
but  her  son  Peter  insisted,  and  when  big 
John's  voice  rang  out  "Honors  all,"  "Corners 
the  same,"  Mrs.  Slater  yielded  to  the  tide 
of  public  opinion. 

Puffing  and  blowing  she  got  through  the 
" First  four  right  and  left,"  "Right  and  left 
back  and  ladies'  chain";  but  when  it  came 
to  "Right  hand  to  partner"  and  "Grand 


THE  PARTY  AT  SLATER'S        205 

right  and  left,"  it  was  good-bye  to  mother! 
Peter  dashed  into  the  set  to  put  his  mother 
right,  but  mother  was  always  pointing  the 
wrong  way.  "Swing  the  feller  that  stole 
the  sheep,"  big  John  sang  to  the  music; 
"Dance  to  the  one  that  drawed  it  home," 
"  Whoop 'er  up  there,  you  Bud,"  "Salute 
the  one  that  et  the  beef  "  and  "Swing  the 
dog  that  gnawed  the  bone."  "First  couple 
lead  to  the  right,"  and  mother  and  father 
went  forward  again  and  "Balance  all!" 
Tonald  McKenzie  was  opposite  mother; 
Tonald  McKenzie  did  steps  —  Highland  fling 
steps  they  were.  Tonald  was  a  Crofter  from 
the  hills,  and  had  a  secret  still  of  his  own 
which  made  him  a  sort  of  uncrowned  king 
among  the  Crofters.  It  was  a  tight  race 
for  popularity  between  mother  and  Tonald 
in  that  set,  and  when  the  two  stars  met  face 
to  face  in  the  "Balance  all!"  Tonald  sur- 
passed all  former  efforts.  He  cracked  his 
heels  together,  he  snapped  his  fingers;  he 
threaded  the  needle;  he  wrung  the  dish- 
cloth —  oh  you  should  have  seen  Tonald ! 
Then  big  John  clapped  his  hands  together, 
and  the  first  figure  was  over. 


206      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

In  the  second  figure  for  which  the  violins 
played  "My  Love  Is  but  a  Lassie  Yet,"  Mrs. 
Slater's  memory  began  to  revive,  and  the 
dust  of  twenty  years  fell  from  her  dancing 
experience.  She  went  down  the  centre  and 
back  again,  right  and  left  on  the  side, 
ladies'  chain  on  the  head,  right  hand  to 
partner  and  grand  right  and  left,  as  neat  as 
you  please,  and  best  of  all,  when  all  the  ladies 
circled  to  the  left,  and  all  the  gentlemen 
circled  to  the  right,  no  one  was  quicker  to 
see  what  was  the  upshot  of  it  all;  and  before 
big  John  told  them  to  "Form  the  basket," 
mother  whispered  to  father  that  she  knew 
what  was  coming,  and  father  told  mother 
she  was  a  wonderful  woman  for  a  Methodist. 
"Turn  the  basket  inside  out, "  "Circle  to  the 
left  —  to  the  centre  and  back,  circle  to  the 
right,"  "Swing  the  girl  with  the  hole  in  her 
sock,"  "Promenade  once  and  a  half  around 
on  the  head,  once  and  a  half  around  on  the 
side,"  "Turn  'em  around  to  place  again 
and  balance  all ! "  "  Clap !  Clap !  Clap ! " 

Mother  wanted  to  quit  then,  but  dear 
me  no!  no  one  would  let  her,  they  would 
dance  the  "Break-down"  now,  and  leave 


THE  PARTY  AT  SLATER'S        207 

out  the  third  figure,  and  as  a  special  induce- 
ment, they  would  dance  "Dan  Tucker." 
She  would  stay  for  "Dan  Tucker."  Peter 
came  in  for  "Tucker,"  an  extra  man  being 
necessary,  and  then  off  they  went  into 

Clear  the  way  for  old  Dan  Tucker, 
He  's  too  late  to  come  to  supper. 

Two  by  two  they  circled  around,  Peter  in 
the  centre  singing — 

Old  Dan  Tucker 
Was  a  fine  old  man- 
Then  back  to  the  right  — 

He  washed  his  face 
In  the  frying-pan. 

Then  around  in  a  circle  hand  in  hand  — 

He  combed  his  hair 

On  a  wagon-wheel, 
And  died  with  the  tcoth-ache 

In  his  heel! 

As  they  let  go  of  their  partners'  hands  and 
went  right  and  left,  Peter  made  his  grand 
dash  into  the  circle,  and  when  the  turn  of 
the  tune  came  he  was  swinging  his  mother, 
his  father  had  Tonald's  partner,  and  Tonald 
was  in  the  centre  in  the  title  roll  of  Tucker, 
executing  some  of  the  most  intricate  steps 
that  had  ever  been  seen  outside  of  the  Isle 
of  Skye. 


2o8      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

Then  the  tune  changed  into  the  skirling 
bag-pipe  lilt  all  Highlanders  love  —  and  which 
we  who  know  not  the  Gaelic  profanely  call 
"Weel  may  the  keel  row" — and  Tonald 
got  down  to  his  finest  work. 

He  was  in  the  byre  now  at  home  beyond 
the  sea,  and  it  iss  not  strange  faces  he  will 
be  seein',  but  the  lads  and  lassies  of  the  Glen, 
and  it  iss  John  McNeash  who  holds  the  drone 
under  his  arm  and  the  chanter  in  his  hands, 
and  the  salty  tang  of  the  sea  comes  up  to 
him  and  the  peat-smoke  is  in  his  nostrils, 
and  the  pipes  skirl  higher  and  higher  as  Tonald 
McKenzie  dances  the  dance  of  his  forbears 
in  a  strange  land.  They  had  seen  Ton- 
aid  dance  before,  but  this  was  different, 
for  it  was  not  Tonald  McKenzie  alone  who 
danced  before  them,  but  the  incarnate 
spirit  of  the  Highlands,  the  unconquerable, 
dauntless,  lawless  Highlands,  with  its  purple 
hills  and  treacherous  caverns  that  fling 
defiance  at  the  world  and  fear  not  man  nor 
devil. 

Tonald  finished  with  a  leap  as  nimble  as  that 
with  which  a  cat  springs  on  its  victim 
while  the  company  watched  spellbound.  He 


THE  PARTY  AT  SLATER'S        209 

slipped  away  into  a  corner  and  would  dance 
no  more  that  night.  • 

When  twelve  o'clock  came,  the  dancing 
was  over,  and  with  the  smell  of  coffee  and 
the  rattle  of  dishes  in  the  kitchen  it  was 
not  hard  to  persuade  big  John  Kennedy 
to  sing. 

Big  John  lived  alone  in  a  little  shanty  in 
the  hills,  and  the  prospect  of  a  good  square 
meal  was  a  pleasant  one  to  the  lonely  fellow 
who  had  been  his  own  cook  so  long.  Big 
John  lived  among  the  Crofters,  whose  methods 
of  cooking  were  simple  in  the  extreme,  and 
from  them  he  had  picked  up  strange  ways 
of  housekeeping.  He  ate  out  of  the  frying- 
pan;  he  milked  the  cow  in  the  porridge- 
pot,  and  only  took  what  he  needed  for  each 
meal,  reasoning  that  she  had  a  better  way 
of  keeping  it  than  he  had.  Big  John  had 
departed  almost  entirely  from  "white  man's 
ways,"  and  lived  a  wild  life  free  from  the 
demands  of  society.  His  ability  to  "call 
off"  at  dances  was  the  one  tie  that  bound 
him  to  the  Canadian  people  on  the  plain. 

"Oh,  I  can't  sing,"  John  said  sheepishly, 
when  they  urged  him. 


210      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

"Tell  us  how  it  happened  any  way  John," 
Bud  Perkins  said.  "Give  us  the  story  of  it." 

"Go  on  John.  Sing  about  the  cowboy," 
Peter  Slater  coaxed. 

"It  iss  a  teffle  of  a  good  song,  that," 
chuckled  Tonald. 

"Well,"  John  began,  clearing  his  throat, 
"here  it's  for  you.  I've  ruined  me  voice 
drivin'  oxen  though,  but  here's  the  song." 

It  was  a  song  of  the  plains,  weird  and 
wistful,  with  an  uncouth  plaintiveness  that 
fascinated  these  lonely  hill-dwellers. 

As  I  was  a-walkin'  one  beautiful  morning, 
As  I  was  a-walkin'  one  morning  in  May, 

I  saw  a  poor  cowboy  rolled  up  in  his  blanket, 
Rolled  up  in  his  blanket  as  cold  as  the  clay! 

The  listener  would  naturally  suppose  that 
the  cowboy  was  dead  in  his  blanket  that 
lovely  May  morning;  but  that  idea  had 
to  be  abandoned  as  the  song  went  on,  be- 
cause the  cowboy  was  very  much  alive  in  the 
succeeding  verses,  when  — 

Round  the  bar  bummin'  where  bullets  were  hummin* 
He  snuffed  out  the  candle  to  show  why  he  come! 

Then  his  way  of  giving  directions  for  his 
funeral  was  somewhat  out  of  the  usual  pro- 


THE  PARTY  AT  SLATER'S        211 

cedure,  but  no  one  seemed  to  notice  these 
little  discrepancies  — 

Beat  the  drum  slowly  boys,  beat  the  drum  lowly  boys, 

Beat  the  dead  march  as  we  hurry  along. 
To  show  that  ye  love  me,  boys,  write  up  above  me,  boys, 

"Here  lies  a  poor  cowboy  who  knows  he  done  wrong." 

In  accordance  with  a  popular  custom, 
John  spoke  the  last  two  words  in  a  very 
slow  and  distinct  voice.  This  was  considered 
a  very  fine  thing  to  do — it  served  the  pur- 
pose of  the  " Finis"  at  the  end  of  the  book, 
or  the  "Let  us  pray,"  at  the  end  of  the 
sermon. 

The  applause  was  very  loud  and  very 
genuine. 

Bud  Perkins,  who  was  the  wit  of  the  Per- 
kins family,  and  called  by  his  mother  a 
"  regular  cut-up, "  was  at  last  induced  to  sing. 
Bud's  "  Come-all- ye "  contained  twenty-three 
verses,  and  in  it  was  set  forth  the  wander- 
ings of  one,  young  Willie,  who  left  his  home 
and  native  land  at  a  very  tender  age,  and 
''left  a  good  home  when  he  left."  His 
mother  tied  a  kerchief  of  blue  around  his 
neck.  "God  bless  you,  son,"  she  said.  "Re- 
member I  will  watch  for  you,  till  life  itself 


212       SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

is  fled!"  The  song  went  on  to  tell  how 
long  the  mother  watched  in  vain.  Young 
Willie  roamed  afar,  but  after  he  had  been 
scalped  by  savage  bands  and  left  for  dead 
upon  the  sands,  and  otherwise  maltreated 
by  the  world  at  large,  he  began  to  think  of 
home,  and  after  shipwrecks,  and  dangers 
and  hair-breadth  escapes,  he  reached  his 
mother's  cottage  door,  from  which  he  had  gone 
long  years  before. 

Then  of  course  he  tried  to  deceive  his 
mother,  after  the  manner  of  all  boys  return- 
ing after  a  protracted  absence  — 

Oh,  can  you  tell  me,  ma'm,  he  said, 
How  far  to  Edinboro'  town. 

But  he  could  not  fool  his  mother,  no,  no! 
She  knew  him  by  the  kerchief  blue,  still  tied 
around  his  neck. 

When  the  applause,  which  was  very  generous, 
had  been  given,  Jim  Russell  wanted  to  know 
how  young  Willie  got  his  neck  washed  in 
all  his  long  meanderings,  or  if  he  did  not 
wash,  how  did  he  dodge  the  health  officers. 

George  Slater  gravely  suggested  that  per- 
haps young  Willie  used  a  dry-cleaning  pro- 


THE  PARTY  AT  SLATER'S       213 

cess  —  French  chalk  or  brown  paper  and  a 
hot  iron. 

Peter  Slater  said  he  did  not  believe  it  was 
the  same  handkerchief  at  all.  No  handker- 
chief could  stand  the  pace  young  Willie  went. 
It  was  another  one  very  like  the  one  he  had 
started  off  with.  He  noticed  them  in  the 
window  as  he  passed,  that  day,  going  cheap 
for  cash. 

The  young  Englishman  looked  more  and 
more  puzzled.  It  was  strange  how  Canadians 
took  things.  He  turned  to  Camilla. 

"It  is  only  a  song,  don't  you  know,'*  he 
said  with  a  distressed  look.  "It  is  really 
impossible  to  say  how  he  had  the  kerchief 
still  tied  around  his  neck." 

The  evening  would  not  have  been  com- 
plete without  a  song  from  Billy  McLean. 
Little  Billy  was  a  consumptive,  playing  a 
losing  game  against  a  relentless  foe;  but 
playing  like  a  man  with  unfailing  cheerful- 
ness, and  eyes  that  smiled  ever. 

There  is  a  bright  ship  on  the  ocean. 

Bedecked  in  silver  and  gold; 
They  say  that  my  Willie  is  sailing^ 

Yes,  sailing  afar  I  am  told, 


2i4      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

was  little  Billy's  song,  known  and  loved  in 
many  a  thresher's  caboose,  but  heard  no 
more  for  many  a  long  day,  for  little  Billy 
gave  up  the  struggle  the  next  spring  when 
the  snow  was  leaving  the  fields  and  the 
trickle  of  w^ater  was  heard  in  the  air.  But  he 
and  his  songs  are  still  lovingly  remembered  by 
the  boys  who  "follow  the  mill,"  when  their 
thoughts  run  upon  old  times. 

Peter  and  Fred  Slater  came  in  with  the 
coffee.  Jim  Russell  with  a  white  apron 
around  his  neck  followed  with  a  basket  of 
sandwiches,  and  Tom  Motherwell  with  a 
heaping  plate  of  cake. 

"  Did  you  make  this  cake,  Nell  ?  "  Tom  whis- 
pered to  Nellie  in  the  pantry  as  she  filled  the 
plate  for  him. 

"Me!"  she  laughed.  "Bless  you  no!  I 
can't  make  anything  but  pancakes." 

Martha  Perkins  still  sat  by  the  window. 
She  looked  older  and  more  careworn  —  she 
was  thinking  of  how  late  it  was  getting. 
Martha  could  make  cakes,  Tom  knew  that. 
Martha  could  do  everything. 

"Go  along  Tom,"  Nellie  was  saying,  "give 
a  piece  to  big  John.  Don't  you  see  how 


THE  PARTY  AT  SLATER'S        215 

hungry  he  looks."  Their  eyes  met.  Hers 
were  bright  and  smiling.  He  smiled  back. 

Oh  pshaw  !  pancakes  are  not  so  bad. 

Jim  Russell  whispered  to  Camilla,  as  he 
passed  near  where  she  and  Arthur  sat,  "  Will 
you  please  come  and  help  Nellie  in  the  pantry  ? 
We  need  you  badly." 

Camilla  called  Maud  Murray  to  take  her 
seat.  She  knew  Maud  would  be  kind  to  the 
young  Englishman. 

When  Camilla  reached  the  pantry  she  found 
Nellie  and  Tom  Motherwell  happily  engaged 
in  eating  lemon  tarts,  and  evidently  not 
needing  her  at  all.  Jim  was  ready  with  an 
explanation.  "  I  was  thinking  of  poor  Thursa, 
far  across  the  sea,"  he  said,  "what  a  shock 
it  would  be  to  her  if  Arthur  was  compelled 
to  write  home  that  he  had  changed  his  mind," 
and  Camilla  did  net  look  nearly  so  angry 
as  she  should  have,  either. 

After  supper  there  was  another  song  from 
Arthur  Wemyss,  the  young  Englishman.  He 
played  his  own  accompaniment,  his  fingers, 
stiffened  though  they  were  with  hard  work, 
ran  lightly  over  the  keys.  Every  person  sat 
still  to  listen.  Even  Martha  Perkins  forgot 


216      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

to  twirl  her  fingers  and  leaned  forward.     It 
was  a  simple  little  English  ballad  he  sang: 

Where  'er  I  wander  over  land  or  foam, 
There  is  a  place  so  dear  the  heart  calls  home. 

Perhaps  it  was  because  the  ocean  rolled 
between  him  and  his  home  that  he  sang 
with  such  a  wistful  longing  in  his  voice, 
that  even  his  dullest  listener  felt  the  heart- 
cry  in  it.  It  was  a  song  of  one  who  reaches 
longing  arms  across  the  sea  to  the  old  home 
and  the  old  friends,  whom  he  sees  only  in 
his  dreams. 

In  the  silence  that  followed  the  song,  his 
fingers  unconsciously  began  to  play  Mendels- 
sohn's beautiful  air,  "We  Would  See  Jesus, 
for  the  Shadows  Lengthen."  Closely  linked 
with  the  young  man's  love  of  home  was  his 
religious  devotion.  The  quiet  Sabbath  morn- 
ing with  its  silvery  chimes  calling  men  to 
prayer;  the  soft  footfalls  in  the  aisle;  the 
white-robed  choir,  his  father's  voice  in  the 
church  service,  so  full  of  divine  significance; 
the  many-voiced  responses  and  the  swelling 
notes  of  the  "Te  Deum"  —  he  missed  it  so. 
All  the  longing  for  the  life  he  had  left,  all 


THE  PARTY  AT  SLATER'S       217 

the  spiritual  hunger  and  thirst  that  was  in 
his  heart  sobbed  in  his  voice  as  he  sang: 

We  would  see  Jesus, 

For  the  shadows  lengthen 
O  'er  this  little  landscape  of  our  life. 

We  would  see  Jesus, 
Our  weak  faith  to  strengthen, 

For  the  last  weariness,  the  final  strife. 
We  would  see  Jesus,  other  lights  are  paling, 

Which  for  long  years  we  have  rejoiced  to  see, 
The  blessings  of  our  pilgrimage  are  failing, 

We  would  not  mourn  them  for  we  go  to  Thee. 

He  sang  on  with  growing  tenderness  through 
all  that  divinely  tender  hymn,  and  the  long- 
ing of  it,  the  prayer  of  it  was  not  his  alone, 
but  arose  from  every  heart  that  listened. 

Perhaps  they  were  in  a  responsive  mood, 
easily  swayed  by  emotion.  Perhaps  that  is 
why  there  was  in  every  heart  that  listened 
a  desire  to  be  good  and  follow'  right- 
eousness, a  reaching  up  of  feeble  hands  to 
God.  The  Reverend  Hugh  Grantley  would 
have  said  that  it  was  the  Spirit  of  God  that 
stands  at  the  door  of  every  man's  heart 
and  knocks. 

The  young  man  left  the  organ,  and  the 
company  broke  up  soon  after.  Before  they 
parted,  Mr.  Slater  in  whom  the  Englishman's 


2i8      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

singing  had  revived  the  spiritual  hunger  of 
his  Methodist  heart,  requested  them  to  sing 
"  God  be  with  you  till  we  meet  again. "  Every 
one  stood  up  and  joined  hands.  Martha,  with 
her  thoughts  on  the  butter  and  eggs ;  Tonald 
McKenzie  and  big  John  with  the  vision  of 
their  lonely  dwellings  in  the  hills  looming 
over  them;  Jim  and  Camilla;  Tom  and 
Nellie,  hand  in  hand;  little  Billy,  face  to 
face  with  the  long  struggle  and  its  certain 
ending.  Little  Billy's  voice  rang  cweet  and 
clear  above  the  others  — 

God  be  with  you  till  we  meet  again, 
Keep  love's  banner  floating  o'er  you, 
Smite  death's  threatening  wave  before  you; 

God  be  with  you  till  we  meet  again! 


CHAPTER   XIX 
PEARL'S  DIARY 

WHEN  Pearl  got  Tom  safely  started  for 
the  party  a  great  weight  seemed  to 
have  rolled  from  her  little  shoulders.  Tom 
was  going  to  spend  the  night  —  what  was 
left  of  it  —  with  Arthur  in  the  granary,  and 
so  avoid  the  danger  of  disturbing  his  parents 
by  his  late  home-coming. 

Pearl  was  too  excited  to  sleep,  so  she 
brought  out  from  her  bird-cage  the  little 
note-book  that  Mrs.  Francis  had  given  her, 
and  endeavoured  to  fill  some  of  its  pages 
with  her  observations. 

Mrs.  Francis  had  told  her  to  write  what 
she  felt  and  what  she  saw. 

She  had  written: 

August  Sth. — I  picked  the  fethers   from    2    ducks 

to-day.     I  call  them  cusmoodles.     I  got  that  name 

in  a  book.     The  cusmoodles  were  just  full  of  cheety- 

wow-wows.     That's    a   pretty   name,    too,  I  think. 

219 


220      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

I  got  that  out  of  my  own  head.  The  cheety- wow- 
wows  are  wanderers  to-night,  I  guess.  They  lost 
their  feather-bed. 

Arthur 's  got  a  girl.  Her  name  is  Thursa.  He 
tells  me  about  her,  and  showed  me  her  picter.  She 
is  beautiful  beyond  compare,  and  awful  savin* 
on  her  clothes.  At  first  I  thought  she  had  a  die- 
away-ducky  look,  but  I  guess  it 's  because  she  was 
sorry  Arthur  was  comin'  away. 

August  gth.  —  Mrs.  Motherwell  is  gittin'  kinder, 
I  think.  When  I  was  gittin'  the  tub  for  Arthur 
yesterday,  and  gittin' water  het,she  said,  "What  are 
you  doin',  Pearl?"  I  says,  "gittin'  Arthur  a  bath." 
She  says,  "Dear  me,  it 's  a  pity  about  him."  I  says, 
"Yes'm,  but  he'll  feel  better  now."  She  says, 
"Duz  he  want  anyone  to  wash  his  back?" — I  says, 
"I  don't  know,  but  I  '11  ask  him,"  and  I  did,  too; 
but  he  says,  "No,  thanks  awfully." 

August  ioth.  —The  English  Church  minister 
called  one  day  to  see  Arthur,  He  read  some  of  the 
Bible  to  us  and  then  he  gave  us  a  dandy  prayer.  He 
did  n't  make  it — it  was  a  bot  one. 

There  's  wild  parsley  down  on  the  crik.  Mrs.  M.  sed 
't  wuz  poison,  but  I  wanted  to  be  sure,  so  I  et  it,  and 
it  isn't.  There's  wild  sage  all  over,  purple  an 
lovely.  I  pickt  a  big  lot  ov  it,  to  taik  home — we 
mite  have  a  turkey  this  winter. 

August  nth.  —  I  hope  torn 's  happy;  it's  offel 
to  be  in  love.  I  hope  I  '11  never  be. 


PEARL'S  DIARY  221 

My  hands  are  pretty  sore  pullin'  weeds,  but  I 
like  it ;  I  pertend  it 's  bad  habits  I  'm  rootin'  out. 

Arthur  's  offel  good:  he  duz  all  the  work  he  can 
for  me,  and  he  sings  for  me  and  tells  me  about  his 
uncle  the  Bishop.  His  uncle 's  got  servants  and 
leggin's  and  lots  of  things.  Arthur  's  been  kind  of 
sick  lately. 

I  made  verses  one  day,  there  not  very  nice,  but 
there  true — I  saw  it: 

The  little  lams  are  beautiful, 

There  cotes  are  soft  and  nice, 
The  little  calves  have  ringworm, 
And  the  2 -year  olds  have  lice! 

Now  I'm  going'  to  make  more;  it  seems  to  bad 
to  leve  it  like  that. 

It  must  be  very  nasty, 

But  to  worrie,  what 's  the  use; 
Better  be  cam  and  cheerfull, 
And  appli  tobaka  jooce. 

Sometimes  I  feal  like  gittin'  lonesum  but  I  jist 
keep  puttin'  it  of.  I  say  to  myself  I  won 't  git  lone- 
sum  till  I  git  this  cow  milked,  and  then  I  say  o  shaw 
I  might  as  well  do  another,  and  then  I  say  I  won't 
git  lonesum  till  I  git  the  pails  washed  and  the  flore 
scrubbed,  and  I  keep  settin'  it  of  and  settin'  it  of  till 
I  forgit  I  was  goin'  to  be. 

One  day  I  wuz  jist  gittin'  reddy  to  cry.  I 
could  feel  tears  startin'  in  my  hart,  and  my  throte  all 
hot  and  lumpy,  thinkin'  of  ma  and  Danny  an'  all  of 
them,  and  I  noticed  the  teakettle  just  in  time — it 
neaded  skourin'.  You  bet  I  put  a  shine  on  it,  and, 


222       SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

of  course,  I  could  n't  dab  tears  on  it  and  muss  it  up, 
so  I  had  to  wait.  Mrs.  M.  duz  n't  talk  to  me.  She 
has  a  morgage  or  a  cancer  I  think  botherin'  her.  Ma 
knowed  a  woman  once,  and  every  buddy  thot  she  was 
terrible  cross  cos  she  wouldn't  talk  at  all  hardly  and 
when  she  died,  they  found  she  'd  a  tumult  in  her  in- 
sides,  and  then  you  bet  they  felt  good  and  sorry, 
when  we  're  cross  at  home  ma  says  it 's  not  the  strap 
we  need,  but  a  good  dose  of  kastor  oil  or  Seany  and 
we  git  it  too. 

I  gess  I  got  Bugsey's  and  Patsey's  bed  paid  fer 
now.  Now  I  11  do  Teddy's  and  Jimmy's.  This  ain't 
a  blot  it  's  the  liniment  Mrs.  McGuire  gave  me. 
I  have  it  on  me  hands. 

I  'm  gittin  on  to  be  therteen  soon.  13  is  pretty 
old  I  gess.  I  '11  soon  turn  the  corner  now  and  be 
lookin"  20  square  in  the  face — I  '11  never  be  homesick 
then.  I  ain  't  lonesome  now  either — it 's  just  sleep 
that  's  in  my  eyes  smuggin  them  up. 

Jim  Russell  is  offel  good  to  go  to  town  he  does  n't 
seem  to  mind  it  a  bit.  Once  I  said  I  wisht  I  'd 
told  Camilla  to  remind  Jimmy  to  spit  on  his  warts 
every  day  —  he's  off  ell  careless,  and  Jim  said  he'd 
tell  Camilla,  and  he  often  asks  me  if  I  want  to  tell 
Camilla  anything,  and  it 's  away  out  of  his  rode  to 
go  round  to  Mrs.  Francis  house  too.  I  like  Jim  you  bet. 


CHAPTER  XX 

TOM'S   NEW   VIEWPOINT 

PEARL  was  quite  disappointed  in  Tom's 
appearance  the  morning  after  the  party. 
Egbert  always  wore  a  glorified  countenance 
after  he  had  seen  Edythe;  but  Tom  looked 
sleepy  and  somewhat  cross. 

He  went  to  his  work  discontentedly.  His 
mother's  moroseness  annoyed  him.  His 
father's  hard  face  had  never  looked  so  for- 
bidding to  him  as  it  did  that  morning.  Mrs. 
Slater's  hearty  welcome,  her  good-natured 
motherly  smiles,  Mr.  Slater's  genial  and 
kindly  ways,  contrasted  sharply  with  his 
own  home  life,  and  it  rankled  in  him. 

"It  's  dead  easy  for  them  Slater  boys  to 
be  smart  and  good,  too,"  he  thought  bitterly; 
"they  are  brought  right  up  to  it.  They 
may  not  have  much  money,  but  look  at  the 
fun  they  have.  George  and  Fred  will  be 
off  to  college  soon,  and  it  must  be  fun  in 
223 


224      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

the  city,  — they  're  dressed  up  all  the  time, 
ridin'  round  on  street  cars,  and  with  no 
chores  to  do." 

The  trees  on  the  poplar  bluff  where  he  had 
made  his  toilet  the  evening  before  were  begin- 
ning to  show  the  approach  of  autumn,  al- 
though there  had  been  no  frost.  Pale  yellow 
and  rust  coloured  against  the  green  of  their 
hardier  neighbours,  they  rippled  their  coin- 
like  leaves  in  glad  good-will  as  he  drove 
past  them  on  his  way  to  the  hayfield. 

The  sun  had  risen  red  and  angry,  giving 
to  every  cloud  in  the  sky  a  facing  of  gold, 
and  long  streamers  shot  up  into  the  blue  of 
the  mid-heaven. 

There  is  no  hour  of  the  day  so  hushed 
and  beautiful  as  the  early  morning,  when 
the  day  is  young,  fresh  from  the  hand  of 
God.  It  is  a  new  page,  clean  and  white  and 
pure,  and  the  angel  is  saying  unto  us  "  Write  1" 
and  none  there  be  who  may  refuse  to  obey. 
It  may  be  gracious  deeds  and  kindly  words 
that,  we  write  upon  it  in  letters  of  gold,  or  it 
may  be  that  we  blot  and  blur  it  with  evil 
thoughts  and  stain  it  with  unworthy  actions, 
but  write  we  must ! 


TOM'S  NEW  VIEWPOINT         225 

The  demon  of  discontent  laid  hold  on 
Tom  that  morning  as  he  worked  in  the  hay- 
field.  New  forces  were  at  work  in  the  boy's 
heart,  forces  mighty  for  good  or  evil. 

A  great  disgust  for  his  surrounding  filled 
him.  He  could  see  from  where  he  worked 
the  big  stone  house,  bare  and  gray.  It  was  a 
place  to  eat  in,  a  place  to  sleep  in,  the  same 
as  a  prison.  He  had  never  known  any  real 
enjoyment  there.  He  knew  it  would  all  be 
his  some  day,  and  he  tried  to  feel  the  pride 
of  possession,  but  he  could  not  —  he  hated  it. 

He  saw  around  him  everywhere  the  abun- 
dance of  harvest  —  the  grain  that  meant 
money.  Money!  it  was  the  greatest  thing 
in  the  world.  He  had  been  taught  to  chase 
after  it  —  to  grasp  it  —  then  hide  it,  and 
chase  again  after  more.  His  father  put 
money  in  the  bank  every  year,  and  never 
saw  it  again.  When  money  was  banked  it 
had  fulfilled  its  highest  mission.  Then  they 
drew  that  wonderful  thing  called  interest, 
money  without  work  -  -  and  banked  it  — 
Oh,  it  was  a  great  game ! 

It  was  the  first  glimmerings  of  manhood 
that  was  stirring  in  Tom's  heart  that  morn- 


226      SOWING  -SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

ing,  the  new  independence,   the  new  indivi- 
dualism. 

Before  this  he  had  accepted  everything  his 
father  and  mother  had  said  or  done  without 
question.  Only  once  before  had  he  doubted 
them.  It  was  several  years  before.  A  man 
named  Skinner  had  bought  from  Tom's 
father  the  quarter  section  that  Jim  Russell 
now  farmed,  paying  down  a  considerable  sum 
of  money,  but  evil  days  fell  upon  the  man 
and  his  wife;  sickness,  discouragement,  and 
then,  the  man  began  to  drink.  He  was  unable 
to  keep  up  his  payments  and  Tom's  father 
had  foreclosed  the  mortgage.  Tom  remem- 
bered the  day  the  Skinners  had  left  their 
farm,  the  woman  was  packing  their  goods 
into  a  box.  She  was  a  faded  woman  in  a 
faded  wrapper,  and  her  tears  were  falling  as 
she  worked.  Tom  saw  her  tears  falling,  and 
he  had  told  her  with  the  awful  cruelty  of  a 
child  that  it  was  their  own  fault  that  they 
had  lost  the  farm.  The  woman  had  shrunk 
back  as  if  he  had  struck  her  and  cried  "Oh, 
no!  No!  Tom,  don't  say  that,  child,  you 
don't  know  what  you  say,"  then  putting  her 
hands  on  his  shoulders  she  had  looked  straight 


TOM'S  NEW  VIEWPOINT         227 

into  his  face  —  he  remembered  that  she  had 
lost  some  teeth  in  front,  and  that  her  eyes 
were  sweet  and  kind.  "Some  day,  dear," 
she  said,  "when  you  are  a  man,  you  will 
remember  with  shame  and  sorrow  that  you 
once  spoke  hard  to  a  broken-hearted,  home- 
less woman."  Tom  had  gone  home  wonder- 
ing and  vaguely  unhappy,  and  could  not 
eat  his  supper  that  night. 

He  remembered  it  all  now,  remembered  it 
with  a  start,  and  with  a  sudden  tightening 
of  his  heart  that  burned  and  chilled  him. 
The  hot  blood  rushed  into  his  head  and 
throbbed  painfully. 

He  looked  at  the  young  Englishman  who 
was  loading  the  hay  on  the  rack,  with  a  sudden 
impulse.  But  Arthur  was  wrapped  in  his 
own  mask  of  insular  reserve,  and  so  saw 
nothing  of  the  storm  that  was  sweeping  over 
the  boy's  soul. 

Then  the  very  spirit  of  evil  laid  hold  on 
Tom.  When  the  powers  of  good  are  present 
in  the  heart,  and  can  find  no  outlet  in  action, 
they  turn  to  evil.  Tom  had  the  desire  to 
be  kind  and  generous;  ambition  was  stirring 
in  him.  His  sullenness  and  discontent  were 


228      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

but  the  outward  signs  of  the  inward  ferment. 
He  could  not  put  into  action  the  powers 
for  good  without  breaking  away,  in  a  measure 
at  least,  from  his  father  and  mother. 

He  felt  that  he  had  to  do  something.  He 
was  hungry  for  the  society  of  other  young 
people  like  himself.  He  wanted  life  and 
action  and  excitement. 

There  is  one  place  where  a  young  man  can 
always  go  and  find  life  and  gaiety  and  good- 
fellowship.  One  door  stands  invitingly  open 
to  all.  When  the  church  of  God  is  cold  and 
dark  and  silent,  and  the  homes  of  Christ's 
followers  are  closed  except  to  the  chosen 
few,  the  bar-room  throws  out  its  evil  welcome 
to  the  young  man  on  the  street. 

Tom  had  never  heard  any  argument  against 
intemperance,  only  that  it  was  expensive. 
Now  he  hated  all  the  petty  meanness  that  he 
had  been  so  carefully  taught. 

The  first  evening  that  Tom  went  into  the 
bar-room  of  the  Millford  hotel  he  was  given 
a  royal  welcome.  They  were  a  jolly  crowd! 
They  knew  how  to  enjoy  life,  Tom  told  him- 
self. What's  the  good  of  money  if  you 
can't  have  a  little  fun  with  it  ? 


TOM'S  NEW  VIEWPOINT         229 

Tom  had  never  had  much  money  of  his  own, 
he  had  never  needed  it  or  thought  anything 
about  it.  Now  the  injustice  of  it  rankled 
in  him.  He  had  to  have  money.  It  was  his. 
He  worked  for  it.  He  would  just  take  it, 
and  then  if  it  was  missed  he  would  tell  his 
father  and  mother  that  he  had  taken  it  — 
taking  your  own  is  not  stealing— and  he  would 
tell  them  so  and  have  it  out  with  them. 

Thus  the  enemy  sowed  the  tares. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

A   CRACK   IN   THE    GRANITE 

WHILE  Pearl  was  writing  her  exper- 
iences in  her  little  red  book,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Motherwell  were  in  the  kitchen  below 
reading  a  letter  which  Mr.  Motherwell  had 
just  brought  from  the  post  office.  It  read 
as  follows: 

BRANDON  HOSPITAL,  August  loth. 

Dear  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Motherwell:  I  know  it  will  be  at  least 
some  slight  comfort  for  you  to  know  that  the  poppies  you 
sent  Polly  reached  her  in  time  to  be  the  very  greatest  com- 
fort to  her.  Her  joy  at  seeing  them  and  holding  them  in  her 
hands  would  have  been  your  reward  if  you  could  have  seen 
it,  and  although  she  had  been  delirious  up  to  that  time  for 
several  days,  the  sight  of  the  poppies  seemed  to  call  her  mind 
back.  She  died  very  peacefully  and  happily  at  daybreak 
this  morning.  She  was  a  sweet  and  lovable  girl  and  we  had 
all  grown  very  fond  of  her,  as  I  am  sure  you  did,  too. 

May  God  abundantly  bless  you,  dear  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mother- 
well,  for  your  kind  thoughtfulness  to  this  poor  lonely  girl. 
"Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  the  least  of  these,  ye 
have  done  it  unto  Me." 

Yours  cordially, 

(Nurse)  AGNES  HUNT. 
230 


A  CRACK  IN  THE  GRANITE       231 

"By  Jinks." 

Sam  Motherwell  took  the  letter  from  his 
wife's  hand  and  excitedly  read  it  over  to 
himself,  going  over  each  word  with  his  blunt 
forefinger.  He  turned  it  over  and  examined 
the  seal,  he  looked  at  the  stamp  and  inside 
of  the  envelope,  and  failing  to  find  any  clue 
to  the  mystery  he  ejaculated  again: 

"  By  Jinks !  What  the  deuce  is  this  about 
poppies.  Is  that  them  things  she  sowed  out 
there?" 

His  wife  nodded. 

"Well,  who  do  you  suppose  sent  them? 
Who  would  ever  think  of  sending  them?" 

Mrs.  Motherwell  made  no  reply. 

"It's  a  blamed  nice  letter  anyway,"  he 
said,  looking  it  over  again,  "I  guess  Polly 
did  n't  give  us  a  hard  name  to  them  up  there 
in  the  'ospital,  or  we  wouldn't  ha'  got  a 
letter  like  this;  and  poor  Polly 's  dead.  Well, 
she  was  a  kind  of  a  good-natured,  willin' 
thing  too,  and  not  too  slow  either." 

Mrs.  Motherwell  was  still  silent.  She  had 
not  thought  that  Polly  would  die,  she  had 
always  had  great  faith  in  the  vitality  of 
English  people.  "You  can't  kill  them,"  she 


232      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

had  often  said;  but  now  Polly  was  dead. 
She  was  sick,  then,  when  she  went  around 
the  house  so  strangely  silent  and  flushed. 
Mrs.  Motherwell's  memory  went  back  with 
cruel  distinctness  —  she  had  said  things  to 
Polly  then  that  stung  her  now  with  a  remorse 
that  was  new  and  terrible,  and  Polly  had 
looked  at  her  dazed  and  wondering,  her  big 
eyes  flushed  and  pleading.  Mrs.  Motherwell 
remembered  now  that  she  had  seen  that  look 
once  before.  She  had  helped  Sam  to  kill  a 
lamb  once,  and  it  came  back  to  her  now, 
how  through  it  all,  until  the  blow  fell,  the 
lamb  had  stood  wondering,  pleading,  yet  un- 
flinching, and  she  had  run  sobbing  away  — 
and  now  Polly  was  dead  —  and  those  big  eyes 
she  had  so  often  seen  tearful,  yet  smiling, 
were  closed  and  their  tears  forever  wiped 
away. 

That  night  she  dreamed  of  Polly,  confused, 
troubled  dreams;  now  it  was  Polly's  mother 
who  was  dead,  then  it  was  her  own  mother, 
dead  thirty  years  ago.  Once  she  started 
violently  and  sat  up.  Someone  had  been 
singing  —  the  echo  of  it  was  still  in  the 
room: 


A  CRACK  IN  THE  GRANITE       233 

Over  my  grave  keep  the  green  willers  growing. 

The  yellow  harvest  moon  flooded  the  room 
with  its  soft  light.  She  could  see  through 
the  window  how  it  lay  like  a  mantle  on  the 
silent  fields.  It  was  one  of  those  glorious, 
cloudless  nights,  with  a  hint  of  frost  in  the 
air  that  come  just  as  the  grain  is  ripening. 
From  some  place  down  the  creek  a  dog 
barked;  once  in  a  while  a  cow-bell  tinkled: 
a  horse  stamped  in  the  stable  and  then  all 
was  still.  Numberless  stars  shone  through 
the  window.  The  mystery  of  life  and  death 
and  growing  things  was  around  her.  As 
for  man  his  days  are  as  grass;  as  ;a  flower 
of  the  field  so  he  flourisheth  —  for  it  is  soon 
cut  off  and  we  fly  away — fly  away  where? — • 
where  ?  —  her  head  throbbed  with  the  question. 

The  eastern  sky  flushed  red  with  morning; 
a  little  ripple  came  over  the  grain.  She 
watched  it  listlessly.  Polly  had  died  at  day- 
break --  didn't  the  letter  say?  Just  like 
that,  the  light  rising  redder  and  redder,  the 
stars  disappearing,  she  wondered  dully  to 
herself  how  often  she  would  see  the  light 
coming,  like  this,  and  yet,  and  yet,  some 
time  would  be  the  last,  and  then  what  ? 


234      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

We  shall  be  where  suns  are  not, 
A  far  serener  clime. 

came  to  her  memory  she  knew  not  from 
whence.  But  she  shuddered  at  it.  Polly's 
eyes,  dazed,  pleading  like  the  lamb's,  rose 
before  her ;  or  was  it  that  Other  Face,  tender, 
thorn-crowned,  that  had  been  looking  upon 
her  in  love  all  these  long  years! 

She  spoke  so  kindly  to  Pearl  when  she 
went  into  the  kitchen  that  the  little  girl 
looked  up  apprehensively. 

"Are  ye  not  well,  ma'am  ?"  she  asked 
quickly. 

Mrs.  Motherwell  hesitated. 

"I  did  not  sleep  very  well,"  she  said,  at 
last. 

"That  's  the  morgage,"  Pearl  thought  to 
herself. 

"And  when  I  did  sleep,  I  had  such  dreadful 
dreams,"  Mrs.  Motherwell  went  on,  strangely 
communicative. 

"That  looks  more  like  the  cancer,"  Pearl 
thought  as  she  stirred  the  porridge. 

"We  got  bad  news,"  Mrs.  Motherwell  said. 
"Polly  is  dead." 

Pearl  stopped  stirring  the  porridge. 


A  CRACK  IN  THE  GRANITE       235 

"When  did  she  die,"  she  asked  eagerly. 

"The  morning  before  yesterday  morning, 
about  daylight." 

Pearl  made  a  rapid  calculation.  "Oh 
good  ! ' '  she  cried,  "  goody  —  goody  —  goody ! 
They  were  in  time. ' ' 

She  saw  her  mistake  in  a  moment,  and 
hastily  put  her  hand  over  her  mouth  as  if 
to  prevent  the  unruly  member  from  further 
indiscretions.  She  stirred  the  porridge  vigor- 
ously, while  her  cheeks  burned. 

"Yes,  they  were,"  Mrs.  Motherwell  said 
quietly. 

Pearl  set  the  porridge  on  the  back  of  the 
stove  and  ran  out  to  where  the  poppies 
nodded  gaily.  Never  before  had  they  seemed 
so  beautiful.  Mrs.  Motherwell  watched  her 
through  the  window  bending  over  them. 
Something  about  the  poppies  appealed  to  her 
now.  She  had  once  wanted  Tom  to  cut  them 
down,  and  she  thought  of  it  now. 

She  tapped  on  the  window.  Pearl  looked 
up,  startled. 

"Bring   in    some,"   she   called. 

When  the  work  was  done  for  the  morning, 
Mrs.  Motherwell  went  up  the  narrow  stair- 


236      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

way  to  the  little  room  over  the  kitchen  to 
gather  together  Polly's  things. 

She  sat  on  Polly's  little  straw  bed  and 
looked  at  the  dismal  little  room.  Pearl  had 
done  what  she  could  to  brighten  it.  The  old 
bags  and  baskets  had  been  neatly  piled  in 
one  corner,  and  quilts  had  been  spread  over 
them  to  hide  their  ugliness  from  view.  The 
wind  blew  gently  in  the  window  that  the  hail 
had  broken.  The  floor  had  been  scrubbed 
clean  and  white  -  -  the  window,  what  was 
left  of  it  —  was  shining. 

She  was  reminded  of  Polly  everywhere  she 
looked.  The  mat  under  her  feet  was  one  that 
Polly  had  braided.  A  corduroy  blouse  hung 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  She  remembered 
now  that  Polly  had  worn  it  the  day  she  came. 

In  a  little  yellow  tin  box  she  found  Polly's 
letters  —  the  letters  that  had  given  her  such 
extravagant  joy.  She  could  see  her  yet,  how 
eagerly  she  would  seize  them  and  rush  up  to 
this  little  room  with  them,  transfigured. 

Mrs.  Motherwell  would  have  to  look  at 
them  to  find  out  Polly's  mother's  address. 
She  took  out  the  first  letter  slowly,  then 
hurriedly  put  it  back  again  in  the  envelope 


A  CRACK  IN  THE  GRANITE       237 

and  looked  guiltily  around  the  room.  But 
it  had  to  be  done.  She  took  it  out  again 
resolutely,  and  read  it  with  some  difficulty. 
It  was  written  in  a  straggling  hand  that 
wandered  uncertainly  over  the  lines.  It  was 
a  pitiful  letter  telling  of  poverty  bitter  and 
grinding,  but  redeemed  from  utter  misery  by 
a  love  and  faith  that  shone  from  every  line: 

My  dearest  polly  i  am  glad  you  like  your  plice  and  your 
misses  is  so  kind  as  wot  you  si,  yur  letters  are  my  kumfit  di 
an  nit.  bill  is  a  ard  man  and  says  hif  the  money  don't  cum 
i  will  ave  to  go  to  the  workus.  but  i  no  you  will  send  it  der 
polly  so  lii  can  old  my  little  plice  hi  got  a  start  todi  a  hoffcer 
past  hi  that  it  wr.s  the  workhus  hoffcer.  bill  ses  he  told  im 
to  cum  hif  hi  cant  pi  by  septmbr  but  hi  am  trustin  God  der 
polly  e  asn't  forgot  us.  hi  'm  glad  the  poppies  grew,  ere's 
a  disy  hi  am  sendin  yu  hi  can  mike  the  butonoles  yet.  hi  do 
sum  hevry  di  mrs  purdy  gave  me  fourpence  one  di  for  sum  i 
mide  for  her  hi  ad  a  cup  of  tee  that  di.  hi  am  appy  thinkin 
of  yu  der  polly. 

"And  Polly  is  dead  !"  burst  from  Mrs. 
Motherwell  as  something  gathered  in  her 
throat.  She  laid  the  letter  down  and  looked 
straight  ahead  of  her. 

The  sloping  walls  of  the  little  kitchen  loft, 
with  its  cobwebbed  beams  faded  away,  and 
she  was  looking  into  a  squalid  little  room 
where  an  old  woman,  bent  and  feeble,  sat 


238      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

working  buttonholes  with  trembling  ringers. 
Her  eyes  were  restless  and  expectant;  she 
listened  eagerly  to  every  sound.  A  step  is 
at  the  door,  a  hand  is  on  the  latch.  The  old 
woman  rises  uncertainly,  a  great  hope  in  her 
eyes  —  it  is  the  letter  —  the  letter  at  last. 
The  door  opens,  and  the  old  woman  falls 
cowering  and  moaning,  and  wringing  her  hands 
before  the  man  who  enters.  It  is  the  officer ! 

Mrs.  Motherwell  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands. 

"Oh  God  be  merciful,  be  merciful,"  she 
sobbed. 

Sam  Motherwell,  knowing  nothing  of  the 
storm  that  was  passing  through  his  wife's 
mind,  was  out  in  the  machine  house  tightening 
up  the  screws  and  bolts  in  the  binders,  getting 
ready  for  the  harvest.  The  barley  was  whiten- 
ing already. 

The  nurse's  letter  had  disturbed  him.  He 
tried  to  laugh  at  himself  —  the  idea  of  his 
boxing  up  those  weeds  to  send  to  anybody. 
Still  the  nurse  had  said  how  pleased  Polly 
was.  By  George,  it  is  strange  what  will  please 
people.  He  remembered  when  he  went  down 
to  Indiana  buying  horses,  how  tired  he  got 


A  CRACK  IN  THE  GRANITE       239 

of  the  look  of  corn-fields,  and  how  the  sight 
of  the  first  decent  sized  wheat  field  just  went 
to  his  heart,  when  he  was  coming  back. 
Someway  he  could  not  laugh  at  anything  that 
morning,  for  Polly  was  dead.  And  Polly 
was  a  willing  thing  for  sure;  he  seemed  to 
see  her  yet,  how  she  ran  after  the  colt  the 
day  it  broke  out  of  the  pasture,  and  when 
the  men  were  away  she  would  hitch  up  a 
horse  for  him  as  quick  as  anybody. 

"  I  kind  o'  wish  now  that  I  had  given  her 
something  —  it  would  have  pleased  her  so  — 
some  little  thing,"  he  added  hastily. 

Mrs.  Motherwell  came  across  the  yard 
bareheaded. 

' '  Come  into  the  house,  Sam, ' '  she  said  gently. 
"I  want  to  show  you  something." 

He  looked  up  quickly,  but  saw  something 
in  his  wife's  face  that  prevented  him  from 
speaking. 

He  followed  her  into  the  house.  The  letters 
were  on  the  table,  Mrs.  Motherwell  read  them 
to  him,  read  them  with  tears  that  almost 
choked  her  utterance. 

"And  Polly's  dead,  Sam!"  she  cried  when 
she  had  finished  the  last  one.  "  Pollv  's  dead, 


240      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

and  the  poor  old  mother  will  be  looking, 
looking  for  that  money,  and  it  will  never 
come.  Sam,  can't  we  save  that  poor  old  woman 
from  the  poorhouse  ?  Do  you  remember  what 
the  girl  said  in  the  letter,  '  Inasmuch  as  ye 
have  done  it  unto  the  least  of  these  my  little 
ones,  ye  have  done  it  unto  Me  ? '  We  did  n't 
deserve  the  praise  the  girl  gave  us.  We 
didn't  send  the  flowers,  we  have  never  done 
anything  for  anybody  and  we  have  plenty, 
plenty,  and  what  is  the  good  of  it,  Sam? 
We  11  die  some  day  and  leave  it  all  behind  us." 

Mrs.  Motherwell  hid  her  face  in  her  apron, 
trembling  with  excitement.  Sam's  face  was 
immovable,  but  a  mysterious  Something,  not  of 
earth,  was  struggling  with  him.  Was  it  the 
faith  of  that  decrepit  old  woman  in  that  bare 
little  room  across  the  sea,  mumbling  to  her- 
self that  God  had  not  forgottten  ?  God 
knows.  His  ear  is  not  dulled;  His  arm  is 
not  shortened ;  His  holy  spirit  moves  mightily. 

Sam  Motherwell  stood  up  and  struck  the 
table  with  his  fist. 

"Ettie,"  he  said,  "I  am  a  hard  man,  a 
danged  hard  man,  and  as  you  say  I  've  never 
given  away  much,  but  I  am  not  so  low  down 


A  CRACK  IN  THE  GRANITE       241 

yet  that  I  have  to  reach  up  to  touch  bottom, 
and  the  old  woman  will  not  go  to  the  poor 
house  if  I  have  money  enough  to  keep  her  out !" 

Sam  Motherwell  was  as  good  as  his  word. 

He  went  to  Winnipeg  the  next  day,  but 
before  he  left  he  drew  a  check  for  one  hundred 
dollars,  payable  to  Polly's  mother,  which  he 
gave  to  the  Church  of  England  clergyman  to 
send  for  him.  About  two  months  afterwards 
he  received  a  letter  from  the  clergyman  of 
the  parish  in  which  Polly's  mother  lived, 
telling  him  that  the  money  had  reached  the 
old  lady  in  time  to  save  her  from  the  work- 
house; a  heart-broken  letter  of  thanks  from 
Polly's  mother  herself  accompanied  it,  calling 
on  God  to  reward  them  for  their  kindness  to 
her  and  her  dear  dead  girl. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

SHADOWS 

ONE  morning  when  Tom  came  into  the 
kitchen  Pearl  looked  up  with  a  wor- 
ried look  on  her  usually  bright  little  face. 

"What's  up,  kid?"  he  asked  kindly.  He 
did  not  like  to  see  Pearl  looking  troubled. 

"Arthur  's  sick,"  she  said  gravely. 

"Go  on!"  he  answered,  "he  's  not  sick.  I 
know  he  's  been  feeling  kind  of  used  up  for 
about  a  week,  but  he  worked  as  well  as  ever 
yesterday.  What  makes  you  think  he  is 
sick?" 

"I  went  out  last  night  to  be  sure  I  had 
shut  the  henhouse  door,  and  I  heard  him 
groanin',  and  I  said,  knockin'  on  the  door, 
'What's  wrong,  Arthur?'  and  he  said,  'Oh, 
I  beg  your  pardon,  Pearl,  did  I  frighten  you?' 
and  I  said,  'No,  but  what's  wrong?'  and  he 
said,  'Nothing  at  all,  Pearl,  thank  you';  but 

I  know  there  is.     You  know  how  polite  he  is 
243 


SHADOWS  243 

—  wouldn't  trouble  anybody.  Wouldn't 
ask  ye  to  slap  'im  on  the  back  if  he  was 
chokin',  I  went  out  two  or  three  times  and 
once  I  brought  him  out  some  liniment,  and 
he  told  me  every  time  he  would  be  'well 
directly,'  but  I  don't  believe  him.  If 
Arthur  groans  there's  something  to  groan 
for,  you  bet." 

"Maybe  he's  in  love,"  Tom  said  sheep- 
ishly. 

"But  you  don't  groan,  Tom,  do  you?"  she 
asked  seriously. 

"Maybe  I  ain't  in  love,  though,  Pearl. 
Ask  Jim  Russell,  he  can  tell  you." 

"Jim  ain't  in  love,  is  he?"  Pearl  asked 
anxiously.  Her  responsibilities  were  growing 
too  fast.  One  love  affair  and  a  sick  man 
she  felt  was  all  she  could  attend  to. 

"Well,  why  do  you  suppose  Jim  comes 
over  here  every  second  day  to  get  you  to 
write  a  note  to  that  friend  of  yours?" 

"Camilla?"  Pearl  asked  open-mouthed. 

Tom  nodded. 

"Camilla  can't  leave  Mrs.  Francis,"  Pearl 
declared  with  conviction. 

"Jim's    a    dandy  smart  fellow.     He  only 


244      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

stays  on  the  farm  in  the  summer.  In  the 
winter  he  book-keeps  for  three  or  four  of 
the  stores  in  Millford  and  earns  lots  of 
money,"  Tom  said,  admiringly. 

After  a  pause  Pearl  said  thoughtfully,  ''I 
love  Camilla!" 

"That's  just  the  way  Jim  feels,  too,  I 
guess,"  Tom  said  laughing  as  he  went  out  to 
the  stable. 

When  Tom  went  out  to  the  granary  he 
found  Arthur  dressing,  .but  flushed  and  look- 
ing rather  unsteady. 

"What's  gone  wrong  with  you,  old  man?" 
he  asked  kindly. 

"  I  feel  a  bit  queer,"  Arthur  replied,  "  that 's 
all.  I  shall  be  well  directly.  Got  a  bit  of  a 
cold,  I  think." 

"  Slept  in  a  field  with  the  gate  open  like  as 
not,"  Tom  laughed. 

Arthur  looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

"You'll  feel  better  \vhen  you  get  your 
breakfast,"  Tom  went  on.  "I  don't  wonder 
you're  sick  —  you  haven't  been  eatin' 
enough  to  keep  a  canary  bird  alive.  Go  on 
right  into  the  house  now.  I'll  feed  your 
team." 


SHADOWS  245 

"It  beats  all  what  happens  to  our  help," 
Mrs.  Motherwell  complained  to  Pearl,  as  they 
washed  the  breakfast  dishes.  "  It  looks  very 
much  as  if  Arthur  is  goin'  to  be  laid  up,  too, 
and  the  busy  time  just  on  us." 

Pearl  was  troubled.  Why  should  Arthur 
be  sick?  He  had  plenty  of  fresh  air;  he 
tubbed  himself  regularly.  He  never  drank 
"alcoholic  beverages  that  act  directly  on  the 
liver  and  stomach,  drying  up  the  blood,  and 
rendering  every  organ  unfit  for  work."  Pearl 
remembered  the  Band  of  Hope  manual.  No, 
and  it  was  not  a  cold.  Colds  do  not  make 
people  groan  in  the  night  —  it  was  some- 
thing else.  Pearl  wished  her  friend,  Dr. 
Clay,  would  come  along.  He  would  soon 
spot  the  trouble. 

After  dinner,  of  which  Arthur  ate  scarcely 
a  mouthful,  as  Pearl  was  cleaning  the  knives, 
Mrs.  Motherwell  came  into  the  kitchen  with 
a  hard  look  on  Jier  face.  She  had  just 
missed  a  two-dollar  bill  from  her  satchel. 

"Pearl,"  she  said  in  a  strained  voice, 
"did  you  see  a  two-dollar  bill  any  place?" 

"Yes,  ma'ani,"  Pearl  answered  quickly. 
"Mrs  Brancis  paid  ma  with  one  once  for  the 


246      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

washing,  but  I  don 't  know  where  it  might  be 
now." 

Mrs.  Motherwell  looked  at  Pearl  keenly. 
It  was  not  easy  to  believe  that  that  little  girl 
would  steal.  Her  heart  was  still  tender  after 
Polly's  death,  she  did  not  want  to  be  hard 
on  Pearl,  but  the  money  must  be  some  place. 

"Pearl,  I  have  lost  a  two-dollar  bill.  If 
you  know  anything  about  it  I  want  you  to 
tell  me,"  she  said  firmly. 

"  I  don 't  know  anything  about  it  no  more  'n 
ye  say  ye  had  it  and  now  ye  've  lost  it," 
Pearl  answered  calmly. 

"Go  up  to  your  room  and  think  about  it," 
she  said,  avoiding  Pearl's  gaze. 

Pearl  went  up  the  narrow  little  steps  with 
a  heart  that  swelled  with  indignation. 

"  Does  she  think  I  sthole  her  dirty  money, 
me  that  has  money  o'  me  own  —  a  thief  is  it 
she  takes  me  for?  Oh,  wirra!  wirra!  and  her 
an'  me  wuz  gittin'  on  so  fine,  too;  and  like  as 
not  this  '11  start  the  morgage  and  the  cancer 
on  her  again." 

Pearl  threw  herself  on  the  hot  little  bed, 
and  sobbed  out  her  indignation  and  her 
homesickness.  She  could  not  put  it  off  this 


SHADOWS  247 

time.  Catching  sight  of  her  grief -stricken  face 
in  the  cracked  looking  glass  that  hung  at  the 
head  of  the  bed,  she  started  up  suddenly. 

"What  am  I  bleatin'  for?"  she  said  to  her- 
self, wiping  her  eyes  on  her  little  patched 
apron.  "Ye  'd  think  to  look  at  me  that  I  'd 
been  caught  stealin'  the  cat's  milk" —  she 
laughed  through  her  tears—  "I  haven't 
stolen  anything  and  what  for  need  I  cry? 
The  dear  Lord  will  get  me  out  of  this  just  as 
nate  as  He  bruk  the  windy  for  me!" 

She  took  her  knitting  out  of  the  bird-cage 
and  began  to  knit  at  full  speed. 

"Danny  me  man,  it  is  a  good  thing  for  ye 
that  the  shaddah  of  suspicion  is  on  yer  sister 
Pearlie  this  day,  for  it  gives  her  a  good 
chance  to  turn  yer  heel.  '  Sowin'  in  the  sun- 
shine, sowin'  in  the  shaddah,'  only  it's  knit- 
tin'  I  am  instead  of  sewin',  but  it 's  all  wan,  I 
guess.  I  mind  how  Paul  and  Silas  were 
singin'  in  the  prison  at  midnight.  I  know 
how  they  felt.  'Do  what  Ye  like,  Lord,' 
they  wur  thinkin'.  'If  it's  in  jail  Ye  want 
us  to  stay,  we're  Yer  men.' " 

Pearl  knit  a  few  minutes  in  silence.  Then 
she  knelt  beside  the  bed. 


248      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

"Dear  Lord,"  she  prayed,  clasping  her 
work-worn  hands,  "help  her  to  find  her 
money,  but  if  anyone  did  steal  it,  give  him  the 
strength  to  confess  it,  dear  Lord.  Amen." 

Mrs.  Motherwell,  downstairs,  was  having 
a  worse  time  than  Pearl.  She  could  not 
make  herself  believe  that  Pearl  had  stolen 
the  money,  and  yet  no  one  had  had  a  chance 
to  take  it  except  Pearl,  or  Tom,  and  that,  of 
course,  was  absurd.  She  went  again  to  have 
a  look  in  every  drawer  in  her  room,  and  as 
she  passed  through  the  hall  she  detected  a 
strange  odour.  She  soon  traced  it  to  Tom 's 
light  overcoat  which  hung  there.  What  was 
the  smell?  It  was  tobacco,  and  something 
more.  It  was  the  smell  of  a  bar-room! 

She  sat  down  upon  the  step  with  a  name- 
less dread  in  her  heart.  Tom  had  gone  to 
Millford  several  times  since  his  father  had 
gone  to  Winnipeg,  and  he  had  stayed  longer 
than  was  necessary,  too;  but  no,  no.  Tom 
would  not  spend  good  money  that  way.  The 
habit  of  years  was  on  her.  It  was  the  money 
she  thought  of  first. 

Then  she  thought  of  Pearl. 

Going  to  the  foot  of  the  stairway  she  called : 


SHADOWS  249 

"Pearl,  you  may  come  down  now." 
"Did  ye  find  it?"  Pearl  asked  eagerly. 
"No." 

"Do  ye  still  think  I  took  it?" 
"No,  I  don't,  Pearl,"  she  answered. 
"All  right  then,    I'll   come  right  down," 
Pearl  said  gladly. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

SAVED ! 

THAT   night   Arthur's   condition  was,  to 
Pearl's   sharp   eyes,    alarming. 

He  tried  to  quiet  her  fears.  He  would 
be  well  directly,  it  was  nothing,  nothing 
at  all,  a  mere  indisposition  (Pearl  didn't 
know  what  that  was);  but  when  she  went 
into  the  granary  with  a  pitcher  of  water  for 
him,  and  found  him  writing  letters  in  the 
feeble  light  of  a  lantern,  she  took  one  look  at 
him,  laid  down  the  pitcher  and  hurried 
out  to  tell  Tom. 

Tom  was  in  the  kitchen  taking  off  his  boots 
preparatory  to  going  to  bed. 

"Tom,"  she  said  excitedly,  "get  back 
into  yer  boots,  and  go  for  the  doctor.  Ar- 
thur's  got  the  thing  that  Pa  had,  and  it'll 
have  to  be  cut  out  of  him  or  he  '11  die. " 

"What?"  Tom  gasped,  with  one  foot 
across  his  knee. 

250 


SAVED !  251 

"I  think  he  has  it,"  Pearl  said,  "he's 
actin'  just  like  what  Pa  did,  and  he  's  in 
awful  pain,  I  know,  only  he  won't  let  on; 
and  we  must  get  the  doctor  or  he  might  die 
before  mornin',  and  then  how  'd  we  feel?" 

Tom  hesitated. 

".Remember,  Tom,  he  has  a  father  and 
a  mother  and  four  brothers,  and  a  girl  called 
Thursa,  and  an  uncle  that  is  a  bishop,  and 
how'd  we  ever  face  them  when  we  go  to 
heaven  if  we  just  set  around  and  let  Arthur 
die?" 

"What  is  it,  Pearl?"  Mrs.  Motherwell 
said  coming  into  the  room,  having  heard 
Pearl's  excited  tones. 

"  It 's  Arthur,  ma  'am.  Come  out  and  see 
him.  You  '11  see  he  needs  the  doctor.  Gin- 
ger tea  and  mustard  plasters  ain't  a  flea-bite 
on  a  pain  like  what  he  has. " 

"Let  's  give  him  a  dose  of  aconite,"  Tom 
said  with  conviction;  "that'll  fix  him." 

Mrs.  Motherwell  and  Pearl  went  over  to 
the  granary. 

"Don't  knock  at  the  door,"  Pearl  whis- 
pered to  her  as  they  went.  "Ye  can't  tell 
a  thing  about  him  if  ye  do.  Arthur 'd 


252      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

straighten  up  and  be  polite  at  his  own 
funeral.  Just  look  in  the  crack  there  and 
you  '11  see  if  he  ain't  sick. " 

Mrs.  Motherwell  did  see.  Arthur  lay  toss- 
ing and  moaning  across  his  bed,  his  letter 
pad  and  pencil  beside  him  on  the  floor. 

Mrs.  Motherwell  did  not  want  Tom  to  go 
to  Millford  that  night.  One  of  the  harvesters' 
excursions  was  expected — was  probably  in — 
then — there  would  be  a  wild  time.  Besides, 
the  two-dollar  bill  still  worried  her.  If  Tom 
had  it  he  might  spend  it.  No,  Tom  was 
safer  at  home. 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  he  's  so  very  bad, "  she 
said.  "  We  11  get  the  doctor  in  the  morning 
if  he  is  n't  any  better.  Now  you  go  to  bed, 
Pearl,  and  don't  worry  yourself.  " 

But  Pearl  did  not  go  to  bed. 

When  Mrs.  Motherwell  and  Tom  had 
gone  to  their  own  rooms,  she  built  up  the 
kitchen  fire,  and  heated  a  frying-pan  full 
of  salt,  with  which  she  filled  a  pair  of  her 
own  stockings  and  brought  them  to  Arthur. 
She  remembered  that  her  mother  had  done 
that  when  her  father  was  sick,  and  that  it  had 
eased  his  pain.  She  drew  a  pail  of  fresh 


SAVED !  253 

water  from  the  well,  and  brought  a  basin- 
ful to  him,  and  bathed  his  burning  face 
and  hands.  Arthur  received  her  attentions 
gratefully. 

Pearl  knew  what  she  would  do.  She 
would  run  over  and  tell  Jim,  and  Jim  would 
go  for  the  doctor.  Jim  would  not  be  in  bed 
yet,  she  knew,  and  even  if  he  were,  he  would 
not  mind  getting  up. 

Jim  would  go  to  town  any  time  she  wanted 
anything.  One  time  when  she  had  said 
she  just  wished  she  knew  whether  Camilla 
had  her  new  suit  made  yet,  Jim  jumped  right 
up  and  said  he'd  go  and  see. 

Mrs.  Motherwell  had  gone  to  her  room  very 
much  concerned  with  her  own  troubles.  Why 
should  Tom  fall  into  evil  ways  ?  she  asked  her- 
self—  a  boy  who  had  been  as  economically 
brought  up  as  he  was.  Other  people's  boys  had 
gone  wrong,  but  she  had  alway  thought  that 
the  parents  were  to  blame  some  way.  Then 
she  thought  of  Arthur;  perhaps  he  should 
have  the  doctor.  She  had  been  slow  to 
believe  that  Polly  was  really  sick — and  had 
had  cause  for  regret.  She  would  send  for  the 
doctor,  in  the  morning.  But  what  was  Pearl 


254      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

doing  so  long  in  the  kitchen  ?  —  She  could  hear 
her  moving  around  —  Pearl  must  go  to  her 
bed,  or  she  would  not  be  able  to  get  up  in  the 
morning. 

Pearl  was  just  going  out  of  the  kitchen 
with  her  hat  and  coat  on  when  Mrs.  Mother- 
well  came  in. 

"Where  are  you  going,  Pearl,"  she  asked. 

"To  git  someone  to  go  for  the  doctor,*' 
Pearl  answered  stoutly. 

"Is  he  worse,"  Mrs.  Motherwell  asked 
quickly. 

"He  can't  git  worse,"  Pearl  replied  grimly. 
"If  he  gits  worse  he'll  be  dead." 

Mrs.  Motherwell  called  Tom  at  once,  and 
told  him  to  bring  the  doctor  as  soon  as  he 
could. 

"  Where 's  my  overcoat  mother  ? ' '  Tom  called 
from  the  hall. 

" Take  your  father's"  she  said,  "he  is  going 
to  get  a  new  one  while  he  is  in  Winnipeg, 
that  one's  too  small  for  him  now.  I  put 
yours  outside  to  air.  It  had  a  queer  smell 
on  it  I  thought,  and  now  hurry,  Tom. 
Bring  Dr.  Earner.  I  think  he's  the  best  for 
a  serious  case.  Dr.  Clay  is  too  young.  Any- 


SAVED !  255 

way,  the  old  man  knows  far  more  than  he 
does,  if  you  can  only  get  him  sober. " 

Pearl's  heart  sank 

"Arthur's  as  good  as  dead,"  she  said  as 
she  went  to  the  granary,  crying  softly  to 
herself.  "Dr.  Clay  is  the  only  man  who  could 
save  him,  and  they  won 't  have  him. ' ' 

The  sun  had  gone  down  and  heavy  clouds 
filled  the  sky.  Not  a  star  was  to  be  seen, 
and  the  night  was  growing  darker  and  darker. 

A  sound  of  wheels  came  from  across  the 
creek,  coming  rapidly  down  the  road.  The 
old  dog  barked  viciously.  A  horse  driven 
at  full  speed  dashed  through  the  yard ;  Pearl 
ran  shouting  after,  for  even  in  the  gathering 
darkness  she  recognised  the  one  person  in  all 
the  world  who  could  save  Arthur.  But  the 
wind  and  the  barking  of  the  dog  drowned 
her  voice,  and  the  sound  of  the  doctor's  wheels 
grew  fainter  in  the  distance. 

Only  for  a  moment  was  Pearl  dismayed. 

"I  '11  catch  him  coming  back,"  she  said, 
"if  I  have  to  tie  binding  twine  across  the 
road  to  tangle  up  Pleurisy's  long  legs.  He  's 
on  his  way  to  Cowan's,  I  know.  Ab  Cowan 
has  quinsy.  Never  mind,  Thursa,  we'll  get 


256      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

him.  I  hope  now  that  the  old  doctor  is  too 
full  to  come  —  oh,  no  I  don't  either,  I  just 
hope  he's  away  and  Dr.  Clay  will  have  it 
done  before  he  gets  here." 

When  Tom  arrived  in  Millford  he  found 
a  great  many  people  thronging  the  streets. 
One  of  the  Ontario's  harvesters'  excursions 
had  arrived  a  few  hours  before,  and  the 
"Huron  and  Bruce"  boys  were  already  mak- 
ing themselves  seen  and  heard. 

Tom  went  at  once  to  Dr.  Earner's  office 
and  found  that  the  doctor  was  out  making 
calls,  but  would  be  back  in  an  hour.  Not  at  all 
displeased  at  having  some  time  to  spend, 
Tom  went  back  to  the  gaily  lighted  front 
street.  The  crowds  of  men  who  went  in  and 
out  of  the  hotels  seemed  to  promise  some 
excitement. 

Inside  of  the  Grand  Pacific,  a  gramophone 
querulously  sang  "Any  Rags,  Any  Bones, 
Any  Bottles  To-day"  to  a  delighted  company 
of  listeners. 

When  Tom  entered  he  was  received  with 
the  greatest  cordiality  by  the  bartender 
and  others. 


SAVED!  257 

"Here  is  life  and  good-fellowship,"  Tom 
thought  to  himself,  "here's  the  place  to 
have  a  good  time. " 

"Is  your  father  back  yet,  Tom?"  the 
bartender  asked  as  he  served  a  line  of  cus- 
tomers. 

"He'll  come  up  Monday  night,  I  expect," 
Tom  answered,  rather  proud  of  the  attention 
he  was  receiving. 

The  bartender  pushed  a  box  of  cigars  to- 
ward him. 

"Have  a  cigar,  Tom,"  he   said. 

"No,  thank  you,"  Tom  answered,  "not 
any."  Tom  could  not  smoke,  but  he  drew 
a  plug  of  chewing  tobacco  from  his  pocket 
and  took  a  chew,  to  show  that  his  sympathies 
were  that  way. 

"  I  guess  perhaps  some  of  you  men  met 
Mr.  Motherwell  in  Winnipeg.  He's  in  there 
hiring  men  for  this  locality,"  the  bartender 
said  amiably. 

"  That 's  the  name  of  the  gent  that  hired 
me,"  said  one. 

"Me  too." 

"And  me,"  came  from  others.  "I'd  no 
intention  of  comin'  here, "  a  man  from  Paisley 


258      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

said.  "I  was  goin'  to  Souris,  until  that 
gent  got  a  holt  of  me,  and  I  thought  if  he 
wuz  a  sample  of  the  men  ye  raise  here,  I  'd 
hike  this  way." 

"He's  lookin'  for  a  treat,"  the  bartender 
laughed.  "He's  sized  you  up,  Tom,  as  a 
pretty  good  fellow." 

"No,  I  ain't  after  no  treat,"  the  Paisley 
man  declared.  "That's  straight,  what  I 
told  you. " 

Tom  unconsciously  put  his  hand  in  his 
coat  pocket  and  felt  the  money  his  father 
had  put  there.  He  drew  it  out  wondering. 
The  quick  eyes  of  the  bartender  saw  it  at  once. 

"Tom's  getting  out  his  wad,  boys,"  he 
laughed.  "  Nothin'  mean  about  Tom,  you  bet 
Tom's  goin'  to  do  somethin'." 

In  the  confusion  that  followed  Tom  heard 
himself  saying: 

"All  right  boys,  come  along  and  name  yer 
drinks. " 

Tom  had  a  very  indistinct  memory  of  what 
followed.  He  remembered  having  a  handful 
of  silver,  and  of  trying  to  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

Once  when  the  boys  were  standing  in 
front  of  the  bar  at  his  invitation  he  noticed  a 


SAVED]  259 

miserable,  hungry  looking  man,  who  drank 
greedily.  It  was  Skinner.  Then  someone 
took  him  by  the  arm  and  said  something 
about  his  having  enough,  and  Tom  felt  him- 
self being  led  across  a  floor  that  rose  and 
fell  strangely,  to  a  black  lounge  that  tried 
to  slide  away  from  him  and  then  came  back 
suddenly  and  hit  him. 

The  wind  raged  and  howled  with  increasing 
violence  around  the  granary  where  Arthur 
lay  tossing  upon  his  hard  bed.  It  seized 
the  door  and  rattled  it  in  wanton  playfulness, 
as  if  to  deceive  the  sick  man  with  the  hope 
that  a  friend's  hand  was  on  the  latch,  and 
then  raced  blustering  and  screaming  down 
to  the  meadows  below.  The  fanning  mill 
and  piles  of  grain  bags  made  fantastic  sha- 
dows on  the  wall  in  the  lantern's  dim  light,and 
seemed  to  his  distorted  fancy  like  dark  and 
terrible  spectres  waiting  to  spring  upon  him. 

Pearl  knelt  down  beside  him,  tenderly 
bathing  his  burning  face. 

"Why  do  you  do  all  this  for  me,  Pearl?" 
he  asked  slowly,  his  voice  coming  thick  and 
painfully. 


2'6o      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

She  changed  the  cloth  on  his  head  before 
replying. 

"Oh,  I  keep  thinkin'  it  might  be  Teddy 
or  Jimmy  or  maybe  wee  Danny,"  she  re- 
plied gently,  "and  besides,  there's  Thursa. " 

The  young  man  opened  his  eyes  and  smiled 
bravely. 

"Yes,   there's  Thursa,"    he    said    simply. 

Pearl  kept  the  fire  burning  in  the  kitchen 
—  the  doctor  might  need  hot  water.  She 
remembered  that  he  had  needed  sheets  too,  and 
carbolic  acid,  when  he  had  operated  on  her 
father  the  winter  before. 

Arthur  did  not  speak  much  as  the  night 
wore  on,  and  Pearl  began  to  grow  drowsy 
in  spite  of  all  her  efforts.  She  brought  the 
old  dog  into  the  granary  with  her  for  company. 
The  wind  rattled  the  mud  chinking  in  the 
walls  and  drove  showers  of  dust  and  gravel 
against  the  little  window.  She  had  put 
the  lantern  behind  the  fanning  mill,  so  that 
its  light  would  not  shine  in  Arthur's  eyes, 
and  in  the  semi-darkness,  she  and  old  Nap 
waited  and  listened.  The  dog  soon  laid  his 
head  upon  her  knee  and  slept,  and  Pearl 
was  left  alone  to  watch.  Surely  the  doctor 


SAVED!  261 

would  come  soon  ...  it  was  a  good  thing 
she  had  the  dog  ...  he  was  so  warm  beside 
her,  and  .  .  . 

She  sprang  up  guiltily.  Had  she  been 
asleep  .  .  .  what  if  he  had  passed  while  she 
slept  .  .  .  she  grew  cold  at  the  thought. 

'"'Did  he  pass,  Nap?"  she  whispered  to 
the  dog,  almost  crying.  "Oh  Nap,  did  we 
let  him  go  past?" 

Nap  yawned  widely  and  flicked  one  ear, 
which  was  his  way  of  telling  Pearl  not  to 
distress  herself.  Nobody  had  passed. 

Pearl's  eyes  were  heavy  with  sleep. 

"This  is  not  the  time  to  sleep,"  she  said, 
yawning  and  shivering.  Arthur's  wash-basin 
stood  on  the  floor  beside  the  bed,  where  she 
had  been  bathing  his  face.  She  put  more 
water  into  it. 

"  Now  then, "  she  said,  "  once  for  his  mother, 
once  for  his  father,  a  big  long  one  for  Thursa, " 
holding  her  head  so  long  below  the  water 
that  it  felt  numb,  when  she  took  it  out. 
"I  can't  do  one  for  each  of  the  boys,"  she 
shivered,  "I'll  lump  the  boys,  here  's  a  big 
one  for  them." 

"There  now, "her  teeth  chattered  as  she 


262       SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

wiped  her  hair  on  Arthur's  towel,  "that  ought 
to  help  some. " 

,  Arthur  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  anx- 
iously around  him.  Pearl  was  beside  him 
at  once. 

"  Pearl, "  he  said,  "what  is  wrong  with  me? 
What  terrible  pain  is  this  that  has  me  in 
its  clutches?"  The  strength  had  gone  out 
of  the  man,  he  could  no  longer  battle  with  it. 

Pearl  hesitated.  It  is  not  well  to  tell 
sick  people  your  gravest  fears.  "  Still  Arthur 
is  English,  and  the  English  are  gritty, " 
Pearl  thought  to  herself. 

"Arthur,"  she  said,  "I  think  you  have 
appendicitis. " 

Arthur  lay  motionless  for  a  few  moments. 
He  knew  what  that  was. 

"But  that  reqtiires  an  operation,"  he  said 
at  length,  "a  very  skilful  one." 

"  It  does,  "  Pearl  replied,  "and  that 's  what 
you  '11  get  as  soon  as  Dr.  Clay  gets  here, 
I'm  thinking." 

Arthur  turned  his  face  into  his  pillow. 
An  operation  for  appendicitis,  here,  in  this 
place,  and  by  that  young  man,  no  older  than 
himself  perhaps?  He  knew  that  at  home, 


SAVED!  26 


it  was  only  undertaken  by  the  oldest  and 
best  surgeons  in  the  hospitals. 

Pearl  saw  something  of  his  fears  in  his  face. 
So  she  hastened  to  reassure  him.  She  said 
cheerfully: 

"  Don't  ye  be  worried,  Arthur,  about  it  at 
all  at  all.  Man  alive!  Dr.  Clay  thinks  no 
more  of  an  operation  like  that  than  I  would 
o'  cuttin'  your  nails." 

A  strange  feeling  began  at  Arthur's  heart, 
and  spread  up  to  his  brain.  It  had  come! 
It  was  here! 

From  lightning  and  tempest;  from  plague,  pestilence 
and  famine ;  from  battle  and  murder  and  sudden 
death  ; — Good  Lord,  deliver  us  ! 

He  had  prayed  it  many  times,  meaning- 
lessly.  But  he  clung  to  it  now,  clung  to  it 
desperately.  As  a  drowning  man.  He  put 
his  hand  over  his  eyes,  his  pain  was  forgotten: 

Other  lights  are  paling  —  which  for  long  years  we 
have  rejoiced  to  see  .  .  .  we  would  not  mourn  them 
for  we  go  to  Thee! 

Yes  it  was  all  right;  he  was  ready  now.  He 
had  come  of  a  race  of  men  who  feared  not 
death  in  whatever  form  it  came. 

Bring  us  to  our  resting  beds  at  night  —  weary  and 
content  and  undishonoured  —  and  grant  us  in  the  end 
the  gift  of  sleep. 


264      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

He  repeated  the  prayer  to  himself  slowly. 
That  was  it,  weary  and  content,  and  undis- 
honoured. 

"  Pearl, "  he  said,  reaching  out  his  burning 
hand  until  it  rested  on  hers,  "all  my  letters 
are  there  in  that  black  portmanteau,  and 
the  key  is  in  my  pocket-book.  I  have  a 
fancy  that  I  would  like  no  eye  but  yours  to 
see  them  —  until  I  am  quite  well  again." 

She  nodded. 

"And  if  you  .  .  .  should  have  need  ...  to 
write  to  Thursa,  tell  her  I  had  loving  hands 
around  me  ...  at  the  last. " 

Pearl  gently  stroked  his  hand. 

"And  to  my  father  write  that  I  knew  no 
fear"  — his  voice  grew  steadier  —  "  and  passed 
out  of  life  glad  to  have  been  a  brave  man's 
son,  and  borne  even  for  a  few  years  a  godly 
father's  name." 

"I  will  write  it,  Arthur, "  she  said. 

"And  to  my  mother,  Pearl"  —  his  voice 
wavered  and  broke  —  "my  mother  .  .  .  for  I 
was  her  youngest  child  .  .  .  tell  her  she  was 
my  last  .  .  .  and  tenderest  thought. " 

Pearl  pressed  his  hand  tenderly  against 
her  weather-beaten  little  cheek,  for  it  was 


SAVED  265 

Danny  now,  grown  a  man  but  Danny  still, 
who  lay  before  her,  fighting  for  his  life;  and 
at  the  thought  her  tears  fell  fast. 

"Pearl,"  he  spoke  again,  after  a  pause, 
pressing  his  hand  to  his  forehead,  "while  my 
mind  holds  clear,  perhaps  you  would  be  good 
enough,  you  have  been  so  good  to  me,  to  say 
that  prayer  you  learned.  My  father  will 
be  in  his  study  now,  and  soon  it  will  be  time 
for  morning  prayers.  I  often  feel  his  blessing 
on  me,  Pearl.  I  want  to  feel  it  now,  bringing 
peace  and  rest .  .  .  weary  and  content  and  un- 
dishonoured,  and  .  .  .  undishonoured  .  .  .  and 
grant  us  .  .  ."  His  voice  grew  fainter  and 
trailed  away  into  incoherency. 

And  now,  oh  thou  dignified  rector  of  St. 
Agnes,  in  thy  home  beyond  the  sea,  lay 
aside  the  "Appendix  to  the  Apology  of 
St.  Perpetua, "  over  which  thou  porest,  for 
under  all  thy  dignity  and  formalism  there 
beats  a  loving  father's  heart.  The  shadows 
are  gathering,  dear  sir,  around  thy  fifth  son 
in  a  far  country,  and  in  the  gathering 
shadows  there  stalks,  noiselessly,  relentlessly, 
that  grim,  gray  spectre,  Death.  On  thy 


266      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

knees,  then,  oh  Rector  of  St.  Agnes,  and 
blend  thy  prayers  with  the  feeble  petitions 
of  her  who  even  now,  for  thy  house,  entreats 
the  Throne  of  Grace.  Pray,  oh  thou  on 
whom  the  bishop's  hands  have  been  laid, 
that  the  golden  bowl  be  not  broken  nor  the 
silver  cord  loosed,  for  the  breath  of  thy 
fifth  son  draws  heavily,  and  the  things  of 
time  and  sense  are  fading,  fading,  fading 
from  his  closing  eyes. 

Pearl  repeated  the  prayer. 

— And  grant,  oh  most  merciful  Father  for  His  sake  ; 
That  we  may  hereafter  lead  a  godly,  righteous  and  a 
sober  life 

She  stopped  abruptly.  The  old  dog  lifted 
his  head  and  listened.  Snatching  up  the 
lantern,  she  was  out  of  the  door  before  the 
dog  was  on  his  feet ;  there  were  wheels  coming, 
coming  down  the  road  in  mad  haste.  Pearl 
swung  the  lantern  and  shouted. 

The  doctor  reined  in  his  horse. 

She  flashed  the  lantern  into  his  face. 

"Oh  Doc!"  she  cried,  "dear  Doc,  I  have 
been  waitin'  and  waitin'  for  ye.  Git  in  there 
to  the  granary.  Arthur's  the  sickest  thing 
ye  ever  saw.  Git  in  there  on  the  double 


SAVED  267 

jump."  She  put  the  lantern  into  his  hand 
as  she  spoke. 

Hastily  unhitching  the  doctor's  horse  she 
felt  her  way  with  him  into  the  driving  shed. 
The  night  was  at  its  blackest. 

"Now,  Thursa,"  she  laughed  to  herself,  "we 
got  him,  and  he'll  do  it,  dear  Doc,  he'll  do 
it."  The  wind  blew  dust  and  gravel  in  her 
face  as  she  ran  across  the  yard. 

When  she  went  into  the  granary  the  doctor 
was  sitting  on  the  box  by  Arthur's  bed,  with 
his  face  in  his  hands. 

"Oh,  Doc,  what  is  it  ?"  she  cried,  seizing 
his  arm. 

The  doctor  looked  at  her,  dazed,  and  even 
Pearl  uttered  a  cry  of  dismay  when  she  saw 
his  face,  for  it  was  like  the  face  of  a  dead  man. 

"Pearl,"  he  said  slowly,  "I  have  made  a 
terrible  mistake,  I  have  killed  young  Cowan." 

"  Bet  he  deserved  it,  then, ' '  Pearl  said  stoutly. 

"  Killed  him,"  the  doctor  went  on,  not  heed- 
ing her,  "he  died  in  my  hands,  poor  fellow  1 
Oh,  the  poor  young  fellow  !  I  lanced  his 
throat,  thinking  it  was  quinsy  he  had,  but  it 
must  have  been  diphtheria,  for  he  died,  Pearl, 
he  died,  I  tell  you  !" 


268       SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

"Well!"  Pearl  cried,  excitedly  waving  her 
arms,  "he  ain't  the  first  man  that's  been 
killed  by  a  mistake,  I'll  bet  lots  o'  doctors 
kijl  people  by  mistake,  but  they  don't  tell  — 
and  the  corpse  don't  either,  and  there  ye  are. 
I  '11  bet  you  feel  worse  about  it  than  he  does. 
Doc." 

The  doctor  groaned. 

"Come,  Doc,"  she  said,  plucking  his  sleeve, 
"take  a  look  at  Arthur." 

The  doctor  rose  uncertainly  and  paced  up 
and  down  the  floor  with  his  face  in  his  hands, 
swaying  like  a  drunken  man. 

"  O  God! "  he  moaned,  "  if  I  could  but  bring 
back  his  life  with  mine;  but  I  can't!  I  can't! 
I  can't!" 

Pearl  watched  him,  but  said  not  a  word. 

At  last  she  said : 

"Doc,  I  think  Arthur  has  appendicitis. 
Come  and  have  a  look  at  him,  and  see  if  he 
has  n't." 

With  a  supreme  effort  the  doctor  gained 
control  of  himself  and  made  a  hasty  but 
thorough  examination. 

"He  has,"  he  said,  "a  well  developed 
case  of  it." 


SAVED !  269 

Pearl  handed  him  his  satchel.  "  Here,  then," 
she  said,  "go  at  him." 

"I  can't  do  it,  Pearl,"  he  cried.  "I  can't. 
He  '11  die,  I  tell  you,  like  that  other  poor  fellow. 
I  can't  send  another  man  to  meet  his  Maker." 

"Oh,,  he's  ready  !"  Pearl  interrupted  him. 
"Don't  hold  back  on  Arthur's  account." 

"I  can't  do  it,"  he  repeated  hopelessly. 
"Hell  die  under  my  knife,  I  can't  kill  two 
men  in  one  night.  O  God,  be  merciful  to 
a  poor,  blundering,  miserable  wretch!"  he 
groaned,  burying  his  face  in  his  hands,  and 
Pearl  noticed  that  the  back  of  his  coat  quivered 
like  human  flesh. 

Arthur's  breath  was  becoming  more  and 
more  laboured;  his  eyes  roved  sightlessly 
around  the  room;  his  head  rolled  on  the 
pillow  in  a  vain  search  for  rest;  his  fingers 
clutched  convulsively  at  the  bed-clothes. 

Pearl  was  filled  with  dismay.  The  founda- 
tions of  her  little  world  were  tottering. 

All  but  One.  There  was  One  who  had 
never  failed  her.  He  would  not  fail  her  now. 

She  dropped  on  her  knees. 

"O  God,  dear  God,"  she  prayed,  beating 
her  hard  little  brown  hands  together,  "don't 


270      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

go  back  on  us,  dear  God.  Put  the  gimp  into 
Doc  again;  he's  not  scared  to  do  it,  Lord, 
he's  just  lost  his  grip  for  a  minute;  he's  not 
scared  Lord ;  it  looks  like  it,  but  he  is  n't. 
You  can  bank  on  Doc,  Lord,  he  's  not  scared. 
Bear  with  him,  dear  Lord,  just  a  minute  — 
just  a  minute  —  he  11  do  it,  and  he  '11  do  it 
right,  Amen." 

When  Pearl  rose  from  her  knees  the  doctor 
had  lifted  his  head. 

"Do  you  want  hot  water  and  sheets  and 
carbolic  ?"  she  asked. 

He  nodded. 

When  she  came  back  with  them  the  doctor 
was  taking  off  his  coat.  His  instruments 
were  laid  out  on  the  box. 

"Get  a  lamp,"  he  said  to  Pearl. 

Pearl's  happy  heart  was  singing  with  joy. 
"O  Lord,  dear  Lord,  You  never  fail,"  she 
murmured  as  she  ran  across  to  the  kitchen. 

When  she  came  back  with  the  lamp  and  a 
chair  to  set  it  on,  the  doctor  was  pinning  a 
sheet  above  the  bed.  His  face  was  white 
and  drawn,  but  his  hand  was  firm  and  his  mouth 
was  a  straight  line. 

Arthur  was  tossing  his  arms  convulsively. 


SAVED!  271 

The  doctor  listened  with  his  ear  a  minute 
upon  the  sick  man's  heart,  then  the  gauze 
mask  was  laid  upon  his  face  and  the  chloro- 
form soon  did  its  merciful  work. 

The  doctor  handed  Pearl  the  bottle.  "A 
drop  or  two  if  he  moves,"  he  said. 

Then  Horace  Clay,  the  man  with  a  man's 
mistakes,  his  fears,  his  heart-burnings,  was 
gone,  and  in  his  place  stood  Horace  Clay,  the 
doctor,  keen,  alert,  masterful,  indomitable, 
with  the  look  of  battle  on  his  face.  He 
worked  rapidly,  never  faltering;  his  eyes 
burning  with  the  joy  of  the  true  physician 
who  fights  to  save,  to  save  a  human  life 
from  the  grim  old  enemy,  Death. 

"  Yotthave  saved  his  life,  Pearl,"  the  doctor 
said  two  hours  later.  Arthur  lay  sleeping 
easily,  the  flush  gone  from  his  face,  and  his 
breath  coming  regularly. 

The  doctor  put  his  hand  gently  on  her 
tumbled  little  brown  head. 

"You  saved  him  from  death,  Pearl,  and 
me  —  from  something  worse." 

And  then  Pearl  took  the  doctor's  hand  in 
both  of  hers,  and  kissed  it  reverently. 


272       SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 
"That 's  for  Thursa,"  she  said,  gravely. 

Tom  was  awakened  by  some  one  shaking 
him  gently. 

"Tom,  Tom  Motherwell,  what  are  you 
doing  here  ?" 

A  woman  knelt  beside  him;  her  eyes  were 
sweet  and  kind  and  sad  beyond  expression. 

"  Tom,  how  did  you  come  here  ? "  she  asked, 
gently,  as  Tom  struggled  to  rise. 

He  sat  up,  staring  stupidly  around  him. 
"Wha'  's  a  matter?  Where's  this?"  he 
asked  thickly. 

"You  're  in  the  sitting-room  at  the  hotel," 
she  said. 

He  would  have  lain  down  again,  but  she 
took  him  firmly  by  the  arm. 

"Come  Tom,"  she  said.  "Come  and  have 
a  drink  of  water." 

She  led  him  out  of  the  hotel  to  the  pump 
at  the  corner  of  the  street.  Tom  drank 
thirstily.  She  pumped  water  on  his  hands, 
and  bathed  his  burning  face  in  it.  The  cold 
water  and  the  fresh  air  began  to  clear  his  brain. 

"What  time  is  it  ?"  he  asked  her. 

"Nearly  morning,"  she  said.     "About  half- 


SAVED!  273 

past  three,  I  think,"  and  Tom  knew  even  in 
the  darkness  that  she  had  lost  more  teeth. 
It  was  Mrs.  Skinner. 

"Tom,"  she  said,  "did  you  see  Skinner  in 
there?  I  came  down  to  get  him  —  I  want 
him  —  the  child  is  dead  an  hour  ago."  She 
spoke  hurriedly. 

Tom  remembered  now.  Yes,  he  had  seen 
Skinner,  but  not  lately;  it  was  a  long,  long 
time  ago. 

"Now  Tom,  go  home,"  she  said  kindly. 
"This  is  bad  work  for  you,  my  dear  boy. 
Stop  it  now,  dear  Tom,  while  you  can.  It 
will  kill  you,  body  and  soul." 

A  thought  struggled  in  Tom's  dull  brain. 
There  was  something  he  wanted  to  say  to 
her  which  must  be  said;  but  she  was  gone. 

He  drank  again  from  the  cup  that  hung 
beside  the  pump.  Where  did  he  get  this 
burning  thirst,  and  his  head,  how  it  pounded ! 
She  had  told  him  to  go  home.  Well,  why 
wasn't  he  at  home  ?  What  was  he  doing  here  ? 

Slowly  his  memory  came  back  —  he  had 
come  for  the  doctor;  and  the  doctor  was  to 
be  back  in  an  hour,  and  now  it  was  nearly 
morning,  didn't  she  say? 


274      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

He  tried  to  run,  but  his  knees  failed  htm 
—  what  about  Arthur?  He  grew  chill  at 
the  thought  —  he  might  be  dead  by  this 
time- 
He  reached  the  doctor's  office  some  way. 
His  head  still  throbbed  and  his  feet  were 
heavy  as  lead;  but  his  mind  was  clear. 

A  lamp  was  burning  in  the  office  but  no 
one  was  in.  It  seemed  a  month  ago  since  he 
had  been  there  before.  The  air  of  the  office 
was  close  and  stifling,  and  heavy  with  stale 
tobacco  smoke.  Tom  sat  down,  wearily,  in 
the  doctor's  armchair;  his  heart  beat  pain- 
fully—  hell  be  dead —  he Tl be  dead  —  heU 
be  dead  —  it  was  pounding.  The  clock  on 
the  table  was  saying  it  too.  Tom  got  up  and 
walked  up  and  down  to  drown  the  sound. 
He  stopped  before  a  cabinet  and  gazed  horri- 
fied at  a  human  skeleton  that  grinned  evilly 
at  him.  He  opened  the  door  hastily,  the 
night  wind  fanned  his  face.  He  sat  down  upon 
the  step,  thoroughly  sober  now,  but  sick  in 
body  and  soul. 

Soon  a  heavy  step  sounded  on  the  side- 
walk, and  the  old  doctor  came  into  the  patch 
of  light  that  shone  from  the  door. 


SAVED !  275 

"Do  you  want  me  ?"  he  asked  as  Tom 
stood  up. 

Yes, ' '  Tom  answered ;   "at  once. ' ' 

"What's  wrong?"  the  doctor  asked 
brusquely. 

Tom  told  him  as  well  as  he  could. 

"Were  you  here  before,  early  in  the  even- 
ing?" 

Tom  nodded. 

"Hurry  up  then  and  get  your  horse,"  the 
doctor  said,  going  past  him  into  the  office. 

"  Yes,  I  thought  so,"  the  doctor  said  gather- 
ing up  his  instruments.  "I  ought  to  know 
the  signs  —  well,  well,  the  poor  young  English- 
man has  had  plenty  of  time  to  die  from  ten 
in  the  evening  till  four  the  next  morning, 
without  indecent  haste  either,  while  this  young 
fellow  was  hitting  up  the  firewater.  Still,  God 
knows,  I  shouldn't  be  hard  on  him.  I've 
often  kept  people  waiting  for  the  same  reason 
and,"  he  added  grimly,  "they  did  n't  always 
wait  either." 

When  Tom  and  the  old  doctor  drove  into 
the  yard  everything  was  silent.  The  wind 
had  fallen,  and  the  eastern  sky  was  bright 
with  morning. 


276      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

The  old  dog  who  lay  in  front  of  the  granary 
door  raised  his  head  at  their  approach  and 
lifted  one  ear,  as  if  to  command  silence. 

Tom  helped  the  doctor  out  of  the  buggy. 
He  tried  to  unhitch  the  horse,  but  the  beating 
of  his  heart  nearly  choked  him  —  the  fear  of 
what  might  be  in  the  granary.  He  waited 
for  the  exclamation  from  the  doctor  which 
would  proclaim  him  a  murderer.  He  heard 
the  door  open  again  —  the  doctor  was  coming 
to  tell  him  —  Tom's  knees  grew  weak  —  he 
held  to  the  horse  for  support  —  who  was  this 
who  had  caught  his  arm  —  it  was  Pearl  crying 
and  laughing. 

"Tom,  Tom,  it's  all  over,  and  Arthur's 
going  to  get  well,"  she  whispered.  "Dr.  Clay 
came." 

But  Pearl  was  not  prepared  for  what 
happened. 

Tom  put  his  head  down  upon  the  horse's 
neck  and  cried  like  a  child  —  no,  like  a 
man  —  for  in  the  dark  and  terrible  night 
that  had  just  passed,  sullied  though  it  was  by 
temptations  and  yieldings  and  neglect  of  duty, 
the  soul  of  a  man  had  been  born  in  him, 
and  he  had  put  away  childish  things  forever. 


SAVED ! 


277 


Dr.  Clay  was  kneeling  in  front  of  the  box 
cleaning  his  instruments,  with  his  back  toward 
the  door,  when  Dr.  Earner  entered.  He 
greeted  the  older  man  cordially,  receiving  but 
a  curt  reply.  Then  the  professional  eye  of 
the  old  doctor  began  to  take  in  the  situation. 
A  half-used  roll  of  antiseptic  lint  lay  on  the 
floor ;  the  fumes  of  the  disinfectants  and  of  the 
anaesthetic  still  hung  on  the  air.  Tom's  de- 
script  ion  of  the  case  had  suggested  appendicitis. 

"  What  was  the  trouble  ? "  he  asked  quickly. 

The  young  doctor  told  him,  giving  him  such 
a  thoroughly  scientific  history  of  the  case  that 
the  old  doctor's  opinion  of  him  underwent  a 
radical  change.  The  young  doctor  explained 
briefly  what  he  had  attempted  to  do  by  the 
operation;  the  regular  breathing  and  ap- 
parently normal  temperature  of  the  patient 
was,  to  the  old  doctor,  sufficient  proof  of 
its  success. 

He  stooped  suddenly  to  examine  the  dress- 
ing that  the  young  doctor  was  showing  him, 
but  his  face  twitched  with  some  strong  emo- 
tion—  pride,  professional  jealousy,  hatred 
were  breaking  down  before  a  stronger  and  a 
worthier  feeling. 


278      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

He  turned  abruptly  and  grasped  the  young 
doctor's  hand. 

"Clay!"  he  cried,  "it  was  a  great  piece  of 
work,  here,  alone,  and  by  lamplight.  You 
are  a  brave  man,  and  I  honour  you."  Then 
his  voice  broke.  "  I  'd  give  every  day  of  my 
miserable  life  to  be  able  to  do  this  once 
more,  just  once,  but  I  haven't  the  nerve, 
Clay";  the  hand  that  the  young  doctor  held 
trembled.  "  I  have  n't  the  nerve.  I  've  been 
going  on  a  whiskey  nerve  too  long." 

"Dr.  Earner,"  the  young  man  replied,  as 
he  returned  the  other's  grasp,  "I  thank  you 
for  your  good  words,  but  I  was  n't  alone 
when  I  did  it.  The  bravest  little  girl  in  all 
the  world  was  here  and  shamed  me  out  of 
my  weakness  and,"  he  added  reverently, 
"  I  think  God  Himself  steadied  my  hand." 

The  old  man  looked  up  wondering. 

"I  believe  you,  Clay,"  he  said  simply. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE     HARVEST 

fTIOM  went  straight  to  his  mother  that 
JL  morning  and  told  her  everything — the 
party  he  had  gone  to,  his  discontent,  his 
desire  for  company  and  fun,  and  excitement, 
taking  the  money,  and  the  events  of  the 
previous  night. 

Mrs.  Motherwell  saw  her  boy  in  a  new  light 
as  she  listened,  and  Tom  had  a  glorified 
vision  of  his  mother  as  she  clasped  him  in 
her  arms  crying:  "It  is  our  fault  Tom, 
mine  and  your  father's;  we  have  tried  to 
make  you  into  a  machine  like  we  are  ourselves, 
and  forgot  that  you  had  a  soul,  but  it's  not  too 
late  yet,  Tom.  I  hate  the  money,  too,  if  it's 
only  to  be  hoarded  up;  the  money  we  sent 
to  Polly's  mother  has  given  me  more  pleasure 
than  all  the  rest  that  we  have." 

"Mother, "  Tom  said,  "how  do  you  suppose 
that  money  happened  to  be  in  that  overcoat 
pocket?" 

"  I  don't  know, "  she  answered ; "  your  father 
279 


280      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

must  have  left  it  there  when  he  wore  it  last. 
It  looks  as  if  the  devil  himself  put  it  there 
to  tempt  you,  Tom. " 

When  his  father  came  back  from  Winnipeg, 
Tom  made  to  him  a  full  confession  as  he  had 
to  his  mother;  and  was  surprised  to  find  that 
his  father  had  for  him  not  one  word  of  re- 
proach. Since  sending  the  money  to  Polly's 
mother  Sam  had  found  a  little  of  the  blessed- 
ness of  giving,  and  it  had  changed  his  way 
of  looking  at  things,  in  some  measure  at 
least.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  to  give  the 
money  back  to  the  church,  and  now  when 
he  found  that  it  had  gone,  and  gone  in  such 
a  way,  he  felt  vaguely  that  it  was  a  punish- 
ment for  his  own  meanness,  and  in  a  small 
measure,  at  least,  he  was  grateful  that  no  worse 
evil  had  resulted  from  it. 

"Father,  did  you  put  that  money  there?" 
Tom  asked. 

"Yes,  I  did  Tom,"  he  answered.  "I 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  myself  for  being 
so  careless,  too." 

"It  just  seemed  as  if  it  was  the  devil  him- 
self," Tom  said.  "I  had  no  intention 
of  drinking  when  I  took  out  that  money." 


THE  HARVEST  281 

"Well,  Tom/'  his  father  said,  with  a  short 
laugh,  "I  guess  the  devil  had  a  hand  in  it, 
he  was  in  me  quite  a  bit  when  I  put  it  there, 
I  kin  tell  ye." 

The  next  Sunday  morning  Samuel  Mother- 
well,  his  wife  and  son,  went  to  church.  Sam 
placed  on  the  plate  an  envelope  containing 
fifty  dollars. 

On  the  following  morning  Sam  had  just 
cut  two  rounds  with  the  binder  when  the  Rev- 
erend Hugh  Grantley  drove  into  the  field.  Sam 
stopped  his  binder  and  got  down. 

"Well,  Mr.  Mother-well,"  the  minister  said, 
holding  out  his  hand  cordially  as  he  walked 
over  to  where  Sam  stood, "  how  did  it  happen? " 

Sam  grasped  his  hand  warmly. 

"Ask  Tom,"  he  said,  nodding  his  head 
toward  his  son  who  was  stooking  the  grain 
a  little  distance  away.  "It  is  Tom's  story." 

Mr.  Grantley  did  ask  Tom,  and  Tom  told 
him;  and  there  in  the  sunshine,  with  the 
smell  of  the  ripe  grain  in  their  nostrils  as  the 
minister  helped  him  to  carry  the  sheaves, 
a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth  were  opened 
to  Tom,  and  a  new  life  was  born  within  him, 
a  life  of  godliness  and  of  brotherly  kindness, 


282      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

whose  blessed  influence  has  gone  far  beyond 
the  narrow  limits  of  that  neighbourhood. 

It  was  nearly  noon  when  the  minister 
left  him  and  drove  home  through  the  sun- 
flooded  grain  fields,  with  a  glorified  look  on 
his  face  as  one  who  had  seen  the  heavens 
opened. 

Just  before  he  turned  into  the  valley  of 
the  Sour  is,  he  stopped  his  horse,  and  looked 
back  over  the  miles  and  miles  of  rippling 
gold.  The  clickety-click-click  of  many  bind- 
ers came  to  his  ears.  Oh  what  a  day  it  was! 
all  sunshine  and  blue  sky!  Below  him  the 
river  glinted  through  the  trees,  and  the  rail- 
way track  shimmered  like  a  silver  ribbon,  and 
as  he  drove  into  the  winding  valley,  the 
Reverend  Hugh  Grantley  sang,  despite  his 
Cameronian  blood,  sang  like  a  Methodist: 

Praise  God  from  whom  all  blessings  flow, 
Praise  Him  all  creatures  here  below, 
Praise  Him  above,  ye  heavenly  host, 
Praise  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

CUPID'S  EMISSARY 

MRS.  McGUIRE  did  not  look  like  Cupid's 
earthly  representative  as  she  sat  in  her 
chintz-covered  rocking-chair  and  bitterly  com- 
plained of  the  weather.  The  weather  was 
damp  and  cloudy,  and  Mrs.  McGuire  said 
her  "jints  were  jump  in'." 

The  little  Watsons  were  behaving  so  well 
that  even  with  her  rheumatism  to  help  her 
vision  she  could  find  no  fault  with  them, 
"just  now";  but  she  reckoned  the  mischief 
"was  hatchin'." 

A  change  was  taking  place  in  Mrs.  McGuire, 
although  she  was  unconscious  of  it;  Mary 
Earner,  who  was  a  frequent  and  welcome 
visitor,  was  having  an  influence  even  on  the 
flinty  heart  of  the  relict  of  the  late  McGuire. 
Mary  "red  up"  her  house  for  her  when  her 
rheumatism  was  bad.  She  cooked  for  her, 
she  sang  and  read  for  her.  Above  all  things, 
Mary  was  her  friend,  and  no  one  who  has  a 
283 


v84      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

friend  can  be  altogether  at  war  with  the  world. 

One  evening  when  Mary  was  Dreading  the 
"Pilgrim's  Progress"  to  her,  the  Reverend 
Hugh  Grantley  came  in  and  begged  to  be  let 
stay  and  enjoy  the  reading,  too.  He  said 
Miss  Earner's  voice  seemed  to  take  the  tangles 
out  of  his  brain,  whereupon  Mrs.  McGuire 
winked  at  herself. 

That  night  she  obligingly  fell  asleep  just 
where  Christian  resolved  to  press  on  to  the 
Heavenly  City  at  all  costs,  and  Mistrust  and 
Timorous  ran  down  the  hill. 

After  that  the  minister  came  regularly, 
and  Mrs.  McGuire,  though  she  complained 
to  herself  that  it  was  hard  to  lose  so  much 
of  the  reading,  fell  asleep  each  night,  and 
snored  loudly.  She  said  she  had  been  young 
herself  once,  and  guessed  she  knew  how  it 
was  with  young  folks.  Just  hoped  he  was 
good  enough  for  Mary,  that  was  all;  men 
were  such  deceivers  —  they  were  all  smooth 
as  silk,  until  it  came  to  livin'  with  'em,  and 
then  she  shook  her  head  grimly,  thinking 
no  doubt  of  the  vagaries  of  the  late  McGuire. 

The  Reverend  Hugh  Grantley  walked  up 


CUPID'S  EMISSARY  285 

and  down  the  floor  of  his  study  in  deep  medi- 
tation. But  his  thoughts  were  not  on  his 
Sunday  sermon  nor  yet  on  the  topic  for  the 
young  people's  meeting,  though  they  were 
serious  enough  by  the  set  of  his  jaw. 

His  friend  Clay  had  just  left  him.  Clay 
was  in  a  radiant  humour.  Dr.  Earner's 
friendly  attitude  toward  him  had  apparently 
changed  the  aspect  of  affairs,  and  now  the 
old  doctor  had  suggested  taking  him  into 
partnership. 

"Think  of  it,  Grantley, "  the  young  man 
had  exclaimed,  "what  this  will  mean  to  me. 
He  is  a  great  man  in  his  profession,  so  clever, 
so  witty,  so  scholarly,  everything.  He  was 
the  double  gold  medallist  in  his  year  at 
McGill,  and  he  has  been  keeping  absolutely 
sober  lately  —  thanks  to  yovir  good  offices  "  — 
at  which  the  other  made  a  gesture  of  dissent 
—  "and then  I  would  be  in  a  better  position 
to  look  after  things.  As  it  has  been,  any 
help  I  gave  Mary  in  keeping  the  old  man  from 
killing  people  had  to  be  done  on  the  sly." 

The  minister  winced  and  went  a  shade 
paler  at  the  mention  of  her  name,  but  the 
doctor  did  not  notice. 


286      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

"Mary  is  anxious  to  have  it  brought  about, 
too,"  he  went  on,  "for  it  has  always  been  a 
worry  to  her  when  he  was  away,  but  now 
he  will  do  the  office  work,  and  I  will  do  the 
driving.  It  will  be  a  distinct  advantage  to 
me,  though  of  course  I  would  do  it  anyway 
for  her  sake." 

Then  it  was  well  for  the  minister  that  he 
came  of  a  race  that  can  hold  its  features 
in  control.  This  easy  naming  of  her  name, 
the  apparent  proprietorship,  the  radiant  happi- 
ness in  Clay's  face,  could  mean  but  one  thing. 
He  had  been  blind,  blind,  blind! 

He  heard  himself  saying  mechanically. 

"  Yes,  of  course,  I  think  it  is  the  only  thing 
to  do,"  and  Clay  had  gone  out  whistling. 

He  sat  for  a  few  minutes  perfectly  motion- 
less. Then  a  shudder  ran  through  him,  and 
the  black  Highland  blood  surged  into  his  face, 
and  anger  flamed  in  his  eyes.  He  sprang  to 
his  feet  with  his  huge  hands  clenched. 

"He  shall  not  have  her,"  he  whispered  to 
himself.  "She  is  mine.  How  dare  he  name 
her!" 

Only  for  a  moment  did  he  give  himself  to 
the  ecstasy  of  rage.  Then  his  arms  fell  and 


CUPID'S  EMISSARY  287 

he    stood     straight    and    calm    and    strong, 
master  of  himself  once  more. 

"What  right  have  I  ?"  he  groaned  wearily 
pressing  his  hands  to  his  head.  "Who  am 
I  that  any  woman  should  desire  me.  Clay, 
with  his  easy  grace,  his  wit,  his  manliness, 
his  handsome  face,  no  wonder  that  she  pre- 
fers him,  any  woman  would,  and  Clay  is 
worthy,  more  worthy,"  he  thought  in  an  agony 
of  renunciation.  He  thought  of  Clay's  life 
as  he  had  known  it  now  for  years.  So  fair 
and  open  and  clean.  "Yes,  Clay  is  worthy 
of  her."  He  repeated  it  dully  to  himself  as 
he  walked  up  and  down. 

Every  incident  of  the  past  three  months 
came  back  to  him  now  with  cruel  distinct- 
ness —  the  sweetness  of  her  voice,  the  glorious 
beauty  of  her  face,  so  full  sometimes  of  life's 
pain,  so  strong  too  in  the  overcoming  of  it, 
and  her  little  hands  —  oh  what  pretty  little 
hands  they  were  —  he  had  held  them  once 
only  for  a  moment,  but  she  must  have  felt 
the  love  that  throbbed  in  his  touch,  and  he 

had  thought  that  perhaps — perhaps Oh, 

unutterable  blind  fool  that  he  was! 

He  pressed  his  hands  again  to  his  head 


288      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

and  groaned  aloud;  and  He  who  hears  the 
cry  of  the  child  or  of  the  strong  man  in  agony 
drew  near  and  laid  His  pierced  hands  upon 
him  in  healing  and  benediction. 

The  next  Sunday  the  Reverend  Hugh 
Grantley  was  at  his  best,  and  his  sermons 
had  a  new  quality  that  appealed  to  and  com- 
forted many  a  weary  one  who,  like  himself, 
was  travelling  by  the  thorn-road. 

In  Mrs.  McGuire's  little  house  there  was 
nothing  to  disturb  the  reading  now,  for  the 
minister  came  no  more,  but  the  joyousness  had 
all  gone  from  Mary's  voice,  and  Mrs.  McGuire 
found  herself  losing  all  interest  in  Christian's 
struggles  as  she  looked  at  Mary's  face. 

Once  she  saw  the  minister  pass  and  she 
beat  upon  the  window  with  her  knitting 
needle,  but  he  hurried  by,  without  looking 
up.  Then  the  anger  of  Mrs.  McGuire  was 
kindled  mightily,  and  she  sometimes  woke  up 
in  the  night  to  express  her  opinion  of  him  in 
the  most  lurid  terms  she  could  think  of, 
feeling  meanwhile  the  futility  of  human 
speech.  It  was  a  hard  position  for  Mrs. 
McGuire,  who  had  always  been  able  to  settle 
her  own  affairs  with  ease  and  grace. 


CUPID'S  EMISSARY  289 

One  day  when  this  had  been  going  on  about 
a  month,  Mrs.  McGuire  sat  in  her  chintz- 
covered  rocking-chair  and  thought  hard,  for 
something  had  to  be  done.  She  narrowed 
her  black  eyes  into  slits  and  thought  and 
thought.  Suddenly  she  started  as  if  she 
heard  something,  and  perhaps  she  did  —  the 
angel  who  brought  the  inspiration  may  have 
whirred  his  wings  a  little. 

Mary  Earner  was  coming  that  afternoon 
to  "  red  up  "  a  little  for  her,  for  her  rheumatism 
had  been  very  bad.  With  wonderful  agility 
she  rose  and  made  ready  for  bed.  First, 
however,  she  carefully  examined  the  latch 
on  her  kitchen  door.  Now  this  latch  had  a 
bad  habit  of  locking  itself  if  the  door  was 
closed  quickly.  Mrs.  McGuire  tried  it  and 
found  it  would  do  this  every  time,  and  with 
this  she  seemed  quite  satisfied. 

About  half  after  three  o'clock  Mary  came 
and  began  to  set  the  little  house  in  order. 
When  this  was  done  Mrs.  McGuire  asked  her 
if  she  would  make  her  a  few  buttermilk 
biscuits,  she  had  been  wishing  for  them  all 
day. 

When  she  saw  Mary  safely  in  the  kitchen 


290      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

her  heart  began  to  beat.  Now  if  the  minister 
was  at  home,  the  thing  was  as  good  as  done. 

She  watched  at  the  window  until  Jimmy 
Watson  came  from  school,  and  then,  tapping 
on  the  glass,  beckoned  him  to  come  in,  which 
he  did  with  great  trepidation  of  spirit. 

She  told  him  to  go  at  once  and  tell  Mr. 
Grantley  to  come,  for  she  needed  him  very 
badly. 

Then  she  got  back  into  bed,  and  tried  to 
compose  her  features  into  some  resemblance 
of  invalidism. 

When  Mr.  Grantley  came  she  was  resting 
easier  she  said  (which  was  true),  but  would 
he  just  get  her  a  drink  of  water  from  the 
kitchen,  and  would  he  please  shut  the  door 
quick  after  him  and  not  let  the  cat  up. 

Mr.  Grantley  went  at  once  and  she  heard 
the  door  shut  with  a  snap. 

Just  to  be  sure  that  it  was  "snibbed," 
Mrs.  McGuire  tiptoed  after  him  in  her  bare 
feet,  a  very  bad  thing  for  a  sick-a-bed  lady 
to  do,  too,  but  to  her  credit,  be  it  written, 
she  did  not  listen  at  the  keyhole. 

She  got  back  into  bed,  exclaiming  to  her- 
self with  great  emphasis : 


CUPID'S  EMISSARY  29I 

"There,  now,  fight  it  out  among  yerselves." 

When  the  minister  stepped  quickly  inside 
the  little  kitchen,  closing  the  door  hurriedly 
behind  him  to  prevent  the  invasion  of  the 
cat  (of  which  there  was  n't  one  and  never  had 
been  any) ,  he  beheld  a  very  busy  and  beautiful 
young  woman  sifting  flour  into  a  baking-dish. 

"Mary!"  he  almost  shouted,  hardly  be- 
lieving his  senses. 

He  recovered  himself  instantly,  and  ex- 
plained his  errand,  but  the  pallor  of  his  face 
was  unmistakable. 

When  Mary  handed  him  the  cup  of  water 
she  saw  that  his  hand  was  shaking;  but  she 
returned  to  her  baking  with  the  greatest 
composure. 

The  minister  attempted  to  lift  the  latch, 
he  rattled  the  door  in  vain. 

"Come  out  this  way,"  Mary  said  as  sweetly 
as  if  she  really  wanted  him  to  go. 

She  tried  to  open  the  outside  door,  also  in 
vain.  Mrs.  McGuire  had  secured  it  from  the 
outside  with  a  clothes-line  prop  and  a  horse 
nail. 

The  minister  came  and  tried  it,  but  Mrs. 
McGuire's  work  held  good.  Then  the  ab- 


292      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

surdity  of  the  position  struck  them  both, 
and  the  little  house  rang  with  their  laughter 
—  laughter  that  washed  away  the  heart- 
aches of  the  dreary  days  before. 

The  minister's  reserve  was  breaking  down. 

"  Mary,"  he  said,  taking  her  face  between  his 
hands,"  are  you  going  to  marry  Horace  Clay  ? " 

"No,"  she  answered,  meeting  his  eyes  with 
the  sweetest  light  in  hers  that  ever  comes  into 
a  woman's  face. 

"Well,  then,"  he  said,  as  he  drew  her  to 
him,  "you  are  going  to  marry  me." 

The  day  had  been  dark  and  rainy,  but  now 
the  clouds  rolled  back  an  .  the  sunshine,  warm 
and  glorious,  streamed  into  the  kitchen.  The 
teakettle,  too,  on  the  stove  behind  them,  threw 
up  its  lid  and  burst  into  a  thunder  of  bubbles. 

The  next  time  they  tried  the  door  it  yielded, 
Mrs.  McGuire  having  made  a  second  barefoot 
journey. 

When  they  came  up  from  the  little  kitchen, 
the  light  ineffable  was  shining  in  their  faces, 
but  Mrs.  McGuire  called  them  back  to  earth 
by  remarking  dryly: 

"  It 's  just  as  well  I  was  n't  parchin'  for 
that  drink." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  THANKSGIVING 

THE  prairie  lay  sere  and  brown  like   a 
piece  of    faded    tapestry  beneath   the 
November  sun  that,  peering  through  the  dust- 
laden   air,    seemed   old   and   worn  with   his 
efforts  to  warm  the  poor  old  faded  earth. 

The  grain  had  all  been  cut  and  gathered 
into  stacks  that  had  dotted  the  fields,  two 
by  two,  like  comfortable  married  couples,  and 
these  in  turn  had  changed  into  billowy  piles 
of  yellow  straw,  through  which  herds  of  cattle 
foraged,  giving  a  touch  of  life  and  colour  to 
the  unending  colourless  landscape.  The  trees 
stood  naked  and  bare.  The  gardens  where 
once  the  corn  waved  and  the  hollyhocks 
flaunted  their  brazen  beauty,  now  lay  a  tangled 
litter  of  stalks,  waiting  the  thrifty  farmer's 
torch  to  clear  them  away  before  the  snow 
came.  The  earth  had  yielded  of  her  fruits 
and  now  rested  from  her  labour,  worn  and 
293 


294      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

spent,  taking  no  thought  of  comeliness,  but 
waiting  in  decrepit  indifference  for  her  friend, 
the  North  Wind,  to  bring  down  the  swirling 
snow  to  hide  her  scars  and  heal  her  unloveli- 
ness  with  its  kindly  white  mantle. 

But  although  the  earth  lay  sere  and  brown 
and  dust-laden,  the  granaries  and  elevators 
were  bursting  with  a  rich  abundance.  In- 
numerable freight-trains  loaded  with  wheat 
wound  heavily  up  the  long  grade,  carrying 
off  all  too  slowly  the  produce  of  the  plain, 
and  still  the  loads  of  grain  came  pouring  in 
from  the  farms.  The  cellars  were  full  of 
the  abundance  of  the  gardens  —  golden  tur- 
nips, rosy  potatoes  and  rows  of  pale  green 
cabbages  hanging  by  their  roots  to  the  beams 
gave  an  air  of  security  against  the  long,  cold, 
hungry  winter. 

Inside  of  John  Watson's  home,  in  spite  of 
November's  dulness,  joy  and  gladness  reigned, 
for  was  not  Pearl  coming  home  ?  Pearl,  her 
mother's  helper  and  adviser ;  Pearl,  her  silent 
father's  wonder  and  delight,  the  second 
mother  of  all  the  little  Watsons!  Pearl  was 
coming  home. 

Events  in  the  Watson  family  were  reckoned 


THE  THANKSGIVING  295 

from  the  time  of  Pearl's  departure  or  the 
time  of  her  expected  home-coming.  "  Pa  got 
raised  from  one  dollar  and  a  quarter  to  one 
dollar  and  a  half  just  six  weeks  from  the  day 
Pearl  left,  lackin'  two  days,"  and  Mrs.  Evans 
gave  Mary  a  new  "stuff"  dress,  "on  the 
Frida'  as  Pearl  left  or  the  Thursda'  three 
weeks  before,"  and,  moreover,  the  latest 
McSorley  baby  was  born  "on  the  Wednesda' 
as  Pearl  was  comin'  home  on  the  Saturda' 
four  weeks  after." 

Domestic  affairs  were  influenced  to  some 
degree  by  Pearl's  expected  arrival.  "Don't 
be  wearin'  yer  sweater  now,  Tommy  man, 
I'm  feart  the  red  strip  '11  run  in  it  when  its 
washed;  save  it  clean  till  Pearlie  comes, 
there's  a  man." 

"  Patsey,  avick,  wobble  yer  tooth  now  man 
alive.  Don't  be  havin'  that  loose  thing 
hangin'  in  yer  jaw,  and  Pearlie  comin'  home 
so  soon." 

The  younger  children,  whose  appetites  were 
out  of  all  proportion  to  the  supply,  were  often 
"tided  over"  what  might  have  been  a  tearful 
time  by  a  promise  of  the  good  time  coming. 
When  Danny  cried  because  the  bottom  of  his 


296      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

porridge  plate  was  "always  stickin'  through," 
and  later  in  the  same  day  came  home  in  the 
same  unmanned  condition  because  he  had 
smelled  chickens  cooking  down  at  the  hotel 
when  he  and  Jimmy  went  with  the  milk, 
Mary  rose  to  the  occasion  and  told  him  in  a 
wild  flight  of  unwarranted  extravagance  that 
they  would  have  a  turkey  when  Pearl  came 
home.  'N  cranberry  sauce.  'N  brown  gravy. 
No-ow! 

The  house  had  undergone  some  prepara- 
tions for  the  joyous  event.  Everything  was 
scrubbed  that  could  be  scrubbed.  An  elabo- 
rately scalloped  newspaper  drape  ornamented 
the  clock  shelf;  paper  chains,  made  of  blue 
and  yellow  sale-bills,  were  festooned  from  the 
elbow  of  the  stove-pipes  to  the  window  cur- 
tains ;  the  wood  box  was  freshly  papered  with 
newspaper ;  red  flannel  was  put  in  the  lamps. 

The  children  were  scrubbed  until  they 
shone.  Bugsey's  sweater  had  a  hole  in  the 
uchist,"  but  you  would  never  know  it  the 
way  he  held  his  hand.  Tommy's  stocking 
had  a  hole  in  the  knee,  but  he  had  artfully 
inserted  a  piece  of  black  lining  that  by  careful 
watching  kept  up  appearances. 


THE  THANKSGIVING  297 

Mrs.  Watson,  instigated  by  Danny,  had 
looked  at  the  turkeys  in  the  butcher  shop 
that  morning,  asked  the  price  and  came 
away  sorrowful.  Even  Danny  understood 
that  a  turkey  was  not  to  be  thought  of. 
They  compromised  on  a  pot-roast  because  it 
makes  so  much  gravy,  and  with  this  and  the 
prospect  of  potatoes  and  turnips  and  prune- 
pie,  the  family  had  to  be  content. 

On  the  day  that  Pearlie  was  expected 
home,  Mrs.  Watson  and  Mary  were  busy 
preparing  the  evening  meal,  although  it  was 
still  quite  early  in  the  afternoon.  Wee  Danny 
stood  on  a  syrup  keg  in  front  of  the  window, 
determined  to  be  the  first  to  see  Pearlie. 

Mrs.  Watson  was  peeling  the  potatoes  and 
singing.  Mrs.  Watson  sang  because  her  heart 
was  glad,  for  was  not  Pearlie  coming  home. 
She  never  allowed  her  singing  to  interfere 
with  more  urgent  duties;  the  singing  could 
always  wait,  and  she  never  forgot  just  where 
she  had  left  it,  but  would  come  back  and  pick 
it  up  at  the  exact  place  she  had  discarded  it. 

"Sure  ain't  it  great  the  way  ma  never 
drops  a  stitch  in  her  singin',"  her  eldest  son 
Teddy  had  said  admiringly  one  day.  "She 


298      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

can  lave  a  note  half  turned  up  in  the  air,  and 
go  off  and  lave  it,  and  ye  'd  think  she  'd  forgot 
where  she  left  it,  but  never  a  fear  o'  ma,  two 
days  afther  she  '11  rache  up  for  it  and  bring 
it  down  and  slip  off  into  the  choon  agin, 
nate  as  nate." 

On  this  particular  day  Mrs.  Watson  sang 
because  she  could  n't  help  it,  for  Pearlie  was 
coming  home  — 

From  Greenland's  icy  mountains, 
From  India's  coral  strands, 

she  sang,  as  she  peeled  the  potatoes  — 

Where  Africa's  sunny  fount  — 

"  Come,  Mary  alanna,  and  scour  the  knives, 
sure  an'  I  forgot  them  at  noon  to-day. 

— tains 

Flow  down  their  crimson  sands ; 
From  many  an  ancient  river 
And  many  a  sandy — 

Put  a  dhrop  more  wather  in  the  kittle  Tommy 
—  don't  ye  hear  it  spittin'  ?  " 

— plain 
They  call  us  to  deliver — 

Here  a  shout  sounded  outside,  and  Bugsey 
came  tumbling  in  and  said  he  thought  he  had 
seen  Pearlie  coming  away  down  the  road 


THE  THANKSGIVING  299 

across  the  track,  whereupon  Danny  cried  so 
uproariously  that  Bugsey,  like  the  gentleman 
he  was,  withdrew  his  statement,  or  at  least 
modified  it  by  saying  it  might  be  Pearlie  and 
it  might  not. 

But  it  was  Pearl,  sure  enough,  and  Danny 
had  the  pleasure  of  giving  the  alarm,  beating 
on  the  window,  maudlin  with  happiness,  while 
Pearl  said  good-bye  to  Tom  Motherwell,  who 
had  brought  her  home.  Tommy  and  Bugsey 
and  Patsey  waited  giggling  just  inside  the 
door,  while  Mary  and  Mrs.  Watson  went  out 
to  greet  her. 

Pearl  was  in  at  last,  kissing  every  little 
last  Watson,  forgetting  she  had  done  Tommy 
and  doing  him  over  again;  with  Danny  hold- 
ing tightly  to  her  skirt  through  it  all,  every- 
body talking  at  once. 

Then  the  excitement  calmed  down  some- 
what, but  only  to  break  right  out  again,  for 
Jimmy  who  had  been  downtown  came  home 
and  found  the  box  which  Tom  Motherwell 
had  left  on  the  step  after  Pearl  had  gone  in. 
They  carried  it  in  excitedly  and  eager  little 
hands  raised  the  lid,  eager  little  voices  shouted 
with  delight. 


300      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

"Didn't  I  tell  ye  we'd  have  a  turkey 
when  Pearlie  came  home,"  Mary  shouted 
triumphantly. 

Pearlie  rose  at  once  to  her  old  position  of 
director-in-chief. 

"The  turkey  '11  be  enough  for  us,  and  it  '11 
be  done  in  time  yet,  and  we  '11  send  the  chicken 
to  Mrs.  McGuire,  poor  owld  lady,  she  wuz 
good  to  me  the  day  I  left.  Now  ma,  you  sit 
down,  me  and  Mary  '11  git  along.  Here 
Bugsey  and  Tommy  and  Patsey  and  Danny, 
here's  five  cents  a  piece  for  ye  to  go  and  buy 
what  ye  like,  but  don't  ye  buy  anything  to 
ate,  for  yell  not  need  it,  but  yez  can  buy 
hankies,  any  kind  ye  like,  ye '11  need  them 
now  the  winter 's  comin'  on,  and  yez  '11  be 
havin'  the  snuffles." 

When  the  boys  came  back  with  their  pur- 
chases they  were  put  in  a  row  upon  their 
mother's  bed  to  be  out  of  the  way  while  the 
supper  was  being  prepared,  all  except  wee 
Bugsey,  who  went,  from  choice,  down  to  the 
tracks  to  see  the  cars  getting  loaded  —  the 
sizzle  of  the  turkey  in  the  oven  made  the 
tears  come. 

Two  hours  later  the   Watson  family   sat 


THE  THANKSGIVING  301 

down  to  supper,  not  in  sections,  but  the 
whole  family.  The  table  had  long  since  been 
inadequate  to  the  family's  needs,  but  two 
boards,  with  a  flour-sack  on  them,  from  the 
end  of  it  to  the  washing  machine  overcame 
the  difficulty. 

Was  there  ever  such  a  turkey  as  that  one  ? 
Mrs.  Watson  carved  it  herself  on  the  back 
of  the  stove. 

"Sure  yer  poor  father  can't  be  bothered 
with  it,  and  it's  a  thing  he  ain't  handy  at, 
mirover,  no  more  'n  meself ;  but  the  at  in'  is 
on  it,  praise  God,  and  we  '11  git  at  it  someway." 

Ten  plates  were  heaped  full  of  potatoes 
and  turnips,  turkey,  brown  gravy,  and 
"stuffin";  and  still  that  mammoth  turkey 
had  layers  of  meat  upon  his  giant  sides. 
What  did  it  matter  if  there  were  not  enough 
plates  to  go  around,  and  Tommy  had  to  eat 
his  supper  out  of  the  saucepan;  and  even  if 
there  were  no  cups  for  the  boys,  was  not  the 
pail  with  the  dipper  in  it  just  behind  them 
on  the  old  high-chair. 

When  the  plates  had  all  been  cleaned  the 
second  time,  and  the  turkey  began  to  look 
as  if  something  had  happened  to  it,  Mary 


302      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

brought  in  the  surprise  of  the  evening  —  it 
was  the  jelly  Mrs.  Evans  had  sent  them  when 
she  let  Mary  come  home  early  in  the  after- 
noon, a  present  from  Algernon,  she  said,  and  the 
whipped  cream  that  Camilla  had  given  Jimmy 
when  he  ran  over  to  tell  her  and  Mrs.  Francis 
that  Pearlie  had  really  come.  Then  everyone 
saw  the  advantage  of  having  their  plates 
licked  clean,  and  not  having  more  turkey 
than  they  knew  what  to  do  with.  Danny 
was  inarticulate  with  happiness. 

"Lift  me  down,  Pearlie,"  he  murmured 
sleepily  as  he  poked  down  the  last  spoonful, 
"and  do  not  jiggle  me." 

When  Patsey  and  Bugsey  and  Tommy  and 
Danny  had  gone  to  bed,  and  Mary  and  Mrs. 
Watson  were  washing  the  dishes  (Pearlie 
was  not  allowed  to  help,  being  the  guest  of 
honour),  John  Watson  sat  silently  smoking  his 
pipe,  listening  with  delight  while  Pearl  related 
her  experiences  of  the  last  three  months. 

She  was  telling  about  the  night  that  she 
had  watched  for  the  doctor.  Not  a  word  did 
she  tell  about,  her  friend,  the  doctor's  agitation, 
nor  what  had  caused  it  on  that  occasion,  and 
she  was  very  much  relieved  to  find  that  her 


THE  THANKSGIVING  303 

listeners  did  not  seem  to  have  heard  about 
the  circumstances  of  Ab  Cowan's  death. 

"Oh,  I  tell  ye,  Doctor  Clay's  the  fellow," 
she  said,  her  eyes  sparkling  with  enthusiasm. 
"He  knew  what  was  wrong  wid  Arthur  the 
minute  he  clapped  his  eyes  on  him  —  tore 
open  his  little  satchel,  slapped  the  chloroform 
into  his  face,  whisked  out  his  knives  and 
slashed  into  him  as  aisy  as  ma  wud  into  a 
pair  of  pants  for  Jimmie  there,  and  him 
waitin'  for  them." 

"  Look  at  that  now  !"  her  father  exclaimed, 
pulling  out  the  damper  of  the  stove  and  spitting 
in  the  ashes.  "Yon  's  a  man  '11  make  his 
mark  wherever  he  goes." 

A  knock  sounded  on  the  door.  Teddy 
opened  it  and  admitted  Camilla  and  Jim 
Russell. 

"  1  've  got  a  letter  for  you  Pearl,"  Jim  said 
when  the  greetings  were  over.  "When  Tom 
brought  the  mail  this  evening  this  letter  for 
you  was  in  with  the  others,  and  Arthur 
brought  it  over  to  see  if  I  would  bring  it  in. 
I  didn't  really  want  to  come,  but  seeing  as 
it  was  for  you,  Pearl,  I  came." 

Camilla  was  not  listening  to  him  at  all. 


3o4      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

Pearl  took  the  letter  wonderingly.  "  Read 
it  Camilla,"  she  said,  handing  it  to  her  friend. 

Camilla  broke  the  seal  and  read  it.  It  was 
from  Alfred  Austin  Wemyss,  Rector  of  St.  Ag- 
nes, Tillbury  Road,  County  of  Kent,  England. 

It  was  a  stately  letter,  becoming  a  rector, 
dignified  and  chaste  in  its  language.  It  was 
the  letter  of  a  dignitary  of  the  Church  to  an 
unknown  and  obscure  child  in  a  distant  land, 
but  it  told  of  a  father  and  mother's  gratitude 
for  a  son's  life  saved,  it  breathed  an  admiration 
for  the  little  girl's  devotion  and  heroism,  and  a 
love  for  her  that  would  last  as  long  as  life  itself. 

Pearl  sat  in  mute  wonder,  as  Camilla  read  — 
that  could  not  mean  her! 

We  do  not  mean  to  offer  money  as  a  payment  for  what 
you  have  done,  dear  child  [Camilla  read  on],  for  such  a  service 
of  love  can  only  be  paid  in  love;  but  we  ask  you  to  accept 
from  us  this  little  gift  as  our  own  daughter  would  accept  it 
if  we  had  had  one,  and  we  will  be  glad  to  think  that  it  has 
been  a  help  to  you  in  the  securing  of  an  education.  Our 
brother,  the  bishop,  wishes  you  to  take  from  him  a  gift  of 
£,20,  and  it  is  his  desire  that  you  should  spend  it  in  whatever 
way  will  give  you  the  most  pleasure.  We  are,  dear  Pearl 
Your  grateful  friends, 

ALFRED  A.  and  MARY  WEMYSS. 

"  Here  is  a  Bank  of  England  draft  for  £120, 
nearly  $600,"  Camilla  said,  as  she  finished  the 
letter. 


THE  THANKSGIVING  305 

The  Watson  family  sat  dumb  with  astonish- 
ment. 

"God  help  us  !"  Mrs.  Watson  cried  at  last. 

"He  has,"  Camilla  said  reverently. 

Then  Pearl  threw  her  arms  around  her 
mother's  neck  and  kissed  her  over  and  over 
again. 

"Ma,  dear,"  she  cried,  "ye '11  git  it  now, 
what  I  always  wanted  ye  to  have,  a  fur-lined 
cape,  and  not  lined  wid  rabbit,  or  squirrel 
or  skunk  either,  but  with  the  real  vermin  ! 
and  it  was  n't  bad  luck  to  have  Mrs.  McGuire 
cross  me  path  when  I  was  going  out.  But 
they  can't  mane  me,  Camilla,  sure  what  did 
I  do?" 

But  Camilla  and  Jim  stood  firm,  the  money 
was  for  her  and  her  only.  Everyone  knew, 
Jim  said,  that  if  she  had  not  stayed  with 
Arthur  that  long  night  and  watched  for  the 
doctor,  that  Arthurwould  have  been  dead  in  the 
morning.  And  Arthur  had  told  him  a  dozen 
times,  Jim  said,  that  Pearl  had  saved  his  life. 

"Well  then,  'twas  aisy  saved,"  Pearl  de- 
clared, "if  I  saved  it." 

Just  then  Dr.  Clay  came  in  with  a  letter  in 
his  hand. 


3o6      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

"My  business  is  with  this  young  lady,"  he 
said  as  he  sat  on  the  chair  Mrs.  Watson  had 
wiped  for  him,  and  drew  Pearl  gently  toward 
him.  "  Pearl,  I  got  some  money  to-night  that 
does  n't  belong  to  me." 

"So  did  I,"  Pearl  said. 

"No,  you  deserve  all  yours,  but  I  don't 
deserve  a  cent.  If  it  had  n't  been  for  this 
little  girl  of  yours,  Mr.  Watson,  that  young 
Englishman  would  have  been  a  dead  man." 

"Faith,  that  's  what  they  do  be  savin', 
but  I  don't  see  how  that  wuz.  You  're  the 
man  yerself  Doc,"  John  replied,  taking  his 
pipe  from  his  mouth. 

"No,"  the  doctor  went  on.  "I  would  have 
let  him  die  if  Pearl  had  n't  held  me  up  to  it 
and  made  me  operate." 

Pearl  sprang  up,  almost  in  tears.  "Doc," 
she  cried  indignantly,  "have  n't  I  towld  ye 
a  dozen  times  not  to  say  that  ?  Where  's 
yer  sense,  Doc  ?" 

The  doctor  laughed.  He  could  laugh  about 
it  now,  since  Dr.  Earner  had  quite  exonerated 
him  from  blame  in  the  matter,  and  given  it 
as  his  professional  opinion  that  young  Cowan 
would  have  died  any  way  —  the  lancing 


THE  THANKSGIVING  307 

of  his  throat  having  perhaps  hastened,  but  did 
not  cause  his  death. 

"  Pearl,"  the  doctor  said  smiling,  "Arthur's 
father  sent  me  ^50  and  a  letter  that  will 
make  me  blush  every  time  I  think  of  it.  Now 
I  cannot  take  the  money.  The  operation, 
no  doubt,  saved  his  life^  but  if  it  had  n't  been 
for  you  there  would  have  been  no  operation. 
I  want  you  to  take  the  money.  If  you  do  not, 
I  will  have  to  send  it  back  to  Arthur's  father 
and  tell  him  all  about  it." 

Pearl  looked  at  him  in  real  distress. 

"And  I  '11  tell  everyone  else,  too,  what 
kind  of  a  man  I  am  —  Jim  here  knows  it 
already"  —the  doctor's  eyes  were  smiling  as 
he  watched  her  troubled  little  face. 

"Oh,  Doctor  Clay,"  she  cried,  "you're 
worse  'n  Danny  when  you  get  a  notion  inter 
yer  head.  What  kin  I  do  with  ye  ?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  the  doctor  laughed, 
"unless  you  marry  me  when  you  grow  up." 

"Well,"  Pearl  answered  gravely,  "I  can't 
do  that  till  ma  and  me  git  the  family  raised, 
but  I'm  thinkin'  maybe  Mary  Earner  might 
take  ye." 

"I  thought  of  that,  too,"  the  doctor  an- 


3o8      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

swered,  while  a  slight  shadow  passed  over  his 
face,  "but  she  seems  to  think  not.  However, 
I  'm  not  in  a  hurry  Pearl,  and  I  just  think 
I  11  wait  for  you." 

After  Camilla  and  Jim  and  the  doctor  had 
gone  that  night,  and  Teddy  and  Billy  and 
Jimmy  had  gone  to  bed,  Pearl  crept  into 
her  father's  ar,ms  and  laid  her  head  on  his 
broad  shoulder. 

"Pa,"  she  said  drowsily,  "I  'm  glad  I  'm 
home." 

Her  father  patted  her  little  brown  hand. 

"So  am  I,  acushla,"  he  said;  after  a  pause 
he  whispered,  "yer  a  good  wee  girl,  Pearlie," 
but  Pearl's  tired  little  eyes  had  closed  in  sleep. 

Mrs.  Watson  laid  more  wood  on  the  fire, 
which  crackled  merrily  up  the  chimney. 

"  Lay  her  down,  John  dear,"  she  whispered. 
"Yer  arms  '11  ache,  man." 

On  the  back  of  the  stove  the  teakettle  sim- 
mered drowsily.  There  was  no  sound  in  the 
house  but  the  regular  breathing  of  the  sleeping 
children.  The  fire  burned  low,  but  John 
Watson  still  sat  holding  his  little  sleeping  girl 
in  his  arms.  Outside  the  snow  was  beginning 
to  fall. 


CONCLUSION 

CONVINCING   CAMILLA 

IF  YOU  can   convince  me,   Jim,  that  you 
are  more  irresponsible  and  more  in  need 
of  a  guiding  hand  than  Mrs.  Francis  —  why 
then  I  '11  —  I  '11  be  - 

Jim  sprang  from  his  chair. 

"  You  '11  be  what,  Camilla  ?  Tell  me  quick," 
he  cried  eagerly. 

"I  '11  be  —  convinced,"  she  said  demurely, 
looking  down. 

Jim  sat  down  again  and  sighed. 

"Will  you  be  anything  else?"  he  asked. 

"Convince  me  first,"  she  said  firmly. 

"I  think  I  can  do  it,"  he  said,  "I  always 
have  to  write  down  what  I  want  to  do  each 
day,  and  what  I  need  to  buy  when  I  come  in 
here,  and  once,  when  I  wrote  my  list,  nails, 
coffee,  ploughshare,  mail,  I  forgot  to  put  on 
it '  come  back, '  and  perhaps  you  may  remem- 
ber I  came  here  that  evening  and  stayed  and 


3io      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

stayed — I  was  trying  to  think  what  to  do 
next." 

"That  need  not  worry' you  again,  Jim,"  she 
said  sweetly.  "  I  can  easily  remember  that, 
and  will  tell  you  every  time." 

"To  'come  back'?"  he  said.  "Thank  you, 
Camilla,  and  I  will  do  it  too." 

She  laughed. 

"  Having  to  make  a  list  is  n't  anything. 
Poor  Mrs.  Francis  makes  a  list  and  then  loses 
it,  then  makes  a  second  list,  and  puts  on  it  to 
find  the  first  list,  and  then  loses  that;  and 
Jim,  she  once  made  biscuits  and  forgot  the 
shortening." 

"  I  made  biscuits  once  and  forgot  the  flour," 
Jim  declared  proudly. 

Camilla  shook  her  head. 

"And,  Camilla,"  Jim  said  gravely,  "I  am 
really  very  irresponsible,  you  know  Nellie 
Slater  —  she  is  a  pretty  girl,  is  n't  she  ?" 

"A  very  pretty  girl,"  Camilla  agreed. 

"  About  your  size  —  fluffy  hair " 

"Wavy,  Jim,"  Camilla  corrected. 

"Hers  is  fluffy,  yours  is  wavy,"  Jim  said 
firmly  —  "lovely  dark  eyes  —  well,  she  was 
standing  by  the  window,  just  before  the 


CONCLUSION  3  ji 

lamps  were  lighted,  and  I  really  am  very 
absent-minded  you  know  —  I  don't  know 
how  it  happened  that  I  mistook  her  for 
you." 

Camilla  reached  out  her  hand. 

He  seized  it  eagerly. 

44  Jim  —  I  am  convinced,"  she  said  softly. 

Fifteen  minutes  afterwards  Camilla  said : 

"I  cannot  tell  her,  Jim,  I  really  cannot. 
I  don't  how  know  to  begin  to  tell  her." 

"  Why  do  you  need  to  tell  her  ? "  Jim  asked. 
"Hasn't  the  lady  eyes  and  understanding  ? 
What  does  she  think  I  come  for?" 

"She  doesn't  know  you  come.  She  sees 
somebody  here,  but  she  thinks  it 's  the  grocery- 
boy  waiting  until  I  empty  his  basket." 

"Indeed,"  Jim  said  a  little  stiffly,  "which 
one,  I  wonder." 

"  Don't  you  remember  the  night  she  said  to 
me  '  And  what  did  you  say  this  young  man's 
name  is,  Camilla '  —  no,  no,  Jim,  she  has  n't 
not  iced  you  at  all." 
•  Jim  was  silent  a  moment. 

"Well  now,"  he  said  at  last,  "she  seemed 
to  be  taking  notice  that  morning  I  came  in 
without  any  very  good  excuse,  and  she  said 


312      SOWING  SEEDS  IN  DANNY 

'How  does  it  happen  that  you  are  not 
harvesting  this  beautiful  day,  Mr.  Russell?" 

"Yes,  and  what  did  you  say  ?"  Camilla 
asked  a  trifle  severely. 

Jim  looked  a  little  embarrassed. 

"  I  said  —  I  had  not  felt  well  lately,  and  I  had 
come  in  to  see  the  doctor." 

"And  what  was  that  ?"  Camilla  was  still 
stern. 

"The  ingenious  device  of  an  ardent  lover," 
he  replied  quickly. 

" 'Ardened  sinner  you  mean,  Jim,"  she 
laughed.  "But  the  next  time  you  had  a 
splendid  excuse,  you  had  a  message  from 
Pearl.  Was  my  new  suit  done?" 

"Yes,  and  then  I  came  to  see " 

There  was  a  frou-frou  of  skirts  in  the  hall. 
Camilla  made  a  quick  move,  and  Jim  became 
busy  with  the  books  on  the  table. 

Mrs.  Francis  entered. 

"Camilla,"  she  began  after  she  had  spoken 
cordially  to  Jim,  "  Mr.  Francis  is  in  need  of  a 
young  man  to  manage  his  business  for  him, 
and  he  has  made  up  his  mind  —  quite  made 
up  his  mind,  Camilla,  to  take  Mr.  Russell  into 
partnership  with  him  if  Mr.  Russell  will  agree. 


CONCLUSION  313 

Mr.  Francis  needs  just  such  a  young  man,  one 
of  education,  good  habits  and  business  ability 
and  so,  Camilla,  I  see  no  reason  why  your 
marriage  should  not  take  place  at  once." 

"Marriage  !"  Camilla  gasped. 

"Yes,"  Mrs.  Francis  said  in  her  richest 
tones.  "Your  marriage,  Camilla,  at  once. 
You  are  engaged  are  you  not?" 

"I  am — convinced,"  Camilla  said  irrele- 
vantly. 

And  then  it  was  Mrs.  Francis  who  laughed 
as  she  held  out  a  hand  to  each  of  them. 

"  I  do  see  —  things  —  sometimes,"  she  said. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angela 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


AUG30 


^RECEIVED 


UCLAU 


9  1999 


315 


UNIVERSITY  of  CALIFORNj, 


